


if that's how you want it

by omgimwritingfanfics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, Slow Build, akatsuki is the main ship here 'kay, purely self-indulgent btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgimwritingfanfics/pseuds/omgimwritingfanfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The dark shape stopped lurching about and seemed to peer in his direction. "You said you'd be awake, asshole."</i>
</p><p>  <i>     "I—no—who the fuck are you?" Tsukishima demanded, brandishing the umbrella like a spear. "How did you get in here?"</i></p><p>  <i>     "The window?" The guy said it like Tsukishima was stupid. "It was faster than the front."</i></p><p> </p><p>In which Akaashi is all too impressionable when drunk, Bokuto and Kuroo are partners in the most outlandish of crimes, and Tsukishima is way, way out of his depth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> when I rarepair, I _rarepair_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks [topftopf](http://topftopf.tumblr.com) for encouraging me to post this
> 
> go look her up on [smokey310](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokey310/pseuds/Smokey310)

 

Tsukishima bolted upright in bed, blinking a cold sweat out of his eyes. Something about pineapple monsters wrapped in volleyball nets floated through his mind before he realised that the reason he had woken up was because of a weird noise in his apartment.

     " _Uggh…Boku…to…sa…?_ "

     And then the sound of someone falling over into the kotatsu, complete with loud, irate grunting.

     "What the fuck," Tsukishima muttered to himself, immediately on high alert. Some weirdo had broken into his home and he didn't even have a baseball bat to defend himself with.

     _Thud_.

     A weirdo that was drunk, or high. And just his luck, he had left his mobile in the kitchen. Tsukishima got up as quietly as he could, ignoring the cold rush of air that hit his bare chest, and padded over to the corner where his umbrella was propped up. That would have to do.

     " _Ha…hate you, you shit…_ "

     This guy obviously had some issues he needed to sort out. Tsukishima gripped the umbrella a little tightly, opening his bedroom door with barely a creak, and slid outside. Why did this have to happen to him just a week after Yamaguchi moved out to Yachi's?

     Everything was a bit surreal in the darkness, all fuzzy dark shapes looming out at him. Except for the one fuzzy dark shape lurching around the middle of his living room, cussing out this "Bokuto-san" in grumbles that trailed off mid-sentence. Tsukishima opened his mouth to yell at the intruder, but as he stepped forward his hip whacked into the corner of the kitchen bench and all that came out was a hissed, "Fuck!"

     The dark shape stopped lurching about and seemed to peer in his direction. "You said you'd be awake, asshole."

     "I—no—who the fuck are you?" Tsukishima demanded, brandishing the umbrella like a spear. "How did you get in here?"

     "The window?" The guy said it like Tsukishima was stupid. "It was faster than the front."

     Tsukishima tilted his head in disbelief. "That fire escape is on the _other corner_ of the building."

     "I climbed across the sills? Obviously." He let out a long breath, and then abruptly stopped mid-sigh. "Wait. You…"

     "Me."

     "You're not Bokuto-san."

     "No."

     "Did Bokuto-san get another boyfriend?"

     "What kind of question is that?" Tsukishima spluttered. "There's nobody named Bokuto that lives here, now could you kindly fuck off before I call the cops?"

     The guy wandered toward the window, the dim streetlamp lighting his silhouette, and pressed his face to the glass. "I got the wrong apartment."

     "You _did_." Now Tsukishima was just exasperated, along with uncomfortable. He still couldn't make out what this very-likely-drunk person looked like, given the fact he had forgotten to put on his glasses when he snuck out of his room. All he could determine was that he had short, dark, and really messy hair.

     "One day, I will kill Bokuto-san." He sounded so world-weary, it would have been dramatic, had the words not been muffled by half his mouth squishing against the window.

     Tsukishima winced at the spit-marks left behind. "Or you could kill him now. What's the apartment number?"

     "Two, six, seven…?"

     "That's _mine_."

     "Oh. Then it's probably two-six-eight. I think."

     "Convincing." Tsukishima finally lowered the umbrella, a little more reassured that the guy making out with his living room window wasn't a threat, despite having just promised to kill someone he knew. "Let me show you to the—what the hell are you doing?!"

     The window was open again and Tsukishima's intruder was leaning out, looking back and forth across the side of the building. "I apologise for breaking into your apartment. Maybe next time you should lock up?" He swung a leg out, humming quietly to himself.

     "You idiot, you'll fall and die," Tsukishima snapped, marching over and grabbing the guy's arm, yanking him back inside. They both staggered back, Tsukishima barely able to keep his balance and stop the drunk idiot from falling onto him. "Come on, _this_ way."

     "Hmm, fine."

     Getting to the door should not have been as hard as it was, but this guy was barely able to walk straight. Tsukishima had no idea how he had managed to climb across a building on the outside, two stories up, without plummeting and breaking his neck. Intoxication really _did_ things to people. At least this one wasn't disgustingly clingy, like _some_ others he could mention.

     A mumbled, "ow," came from behind him, which he disregarded and marched ahead to the door, fumbling with the lock and throwing it open. Soft lighting flooded into his apartment, making him squint. Ironically, now there was light, he felt he could barely see at all.

     The fuzzy human-shape drifted past him, pausing just outside and looking around, Tsukishima thought, a bit stupidly. "Two…six…"

     "Eight's to the right of me." He thumbed the direction—he was familiar enough with it, after all, it had been Hinata and Kageyama's old apartment, which had lay vacant since they left in the first semester. He hadn't even realised someone else had moved _in_. "Just go check to see if it's Bokuto-san or whatever so you don't come into mine again."

     "Yes, I should." The guy swayed slightly on the spot, then spun around and strode purposefully to 268, and knocked once. Then twice. Then again, and again, a steady, low, aggravating rhythm punctuated every now and then with a flat "Bokuto-san. Bokuto-san."

     _Holy shit_. Tsukishima felt the beginnings of a headache prise into his temples. That Bokuto-san had better open up, or by God he was going to kick that door down.

     _Knock_. "Bokuto-san." _Knock. Knock._ "Bokuto-sa—"

     The door flew open and another out-of-focus human-shape burst out. " _What_?!"

     "You said your apartment was four windows across, Bokuto-san. Not three."

     This guy had _encouraged_ him to scale across the fucking building? Tsukishima wanted to slam his head against the wall, but by the ache rocketing around his skull, he might have done so already.

     "Oh my God, I didn't think you would actually do it, Akaashi!" The fuzzy shape looked at him, white and black hair sticking up in all directions. _What the hell_. "And who is _that_? Did you bring him along? I didn't know you had a new boyfriend!"

    "I landed in his apartment," 'Akaashi' said slowly, like he was talking to a five-year-old. Suddenly Tsukishima wasn't entirely sure which of those two was the drunk one. And why was he suddenly everyone's boyfriend? "Now let me inside."

     "Sure, sure, go in." Bokuto waved aimlessly at the direction of his apartment, still scrutinising Tsukishima, who remembered all he had on were his boxers, and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

     "Ah." Akaashi stopped suddenly, abruptly turned to Tsukishima and bowed from his waist. "Thank you very much for your hospitality."

     "My hospita—" Tsukishima gaped as Akaashi vanished inside.

     "Ah, thanks for making sure he didn't die." Bokuto's face was incredibly blurred, but at least his voice sounded guilty enough. "I, um, fell asleep."

     "Mm. Yeah," was all he could say, despite a thousand and one incredulous thoughts bouncing around his mind. He backed away, pulling the door shut behind him. A comforting _click_ echoed as the lock closed and he rested his back against the wood, staring into his darkened apartment through half-closed eyes. All this stuff just had to happen after his friends had all moved out, didn't it?

     Massaging his forehead, he wandered back into the living room, yanking the window shut and pulling the curtains across. Living alone was both relaxing and unsettling. Also, it was getting kind of hard paying the accommodation fees. And now he had to deal with a new, messed up neighbour and his friend, both of whom at least didn't know his name.

    He didn’t miss Hinata's two am volleyball marathons next door complete with loud cheering, followed by Kageyama's snarls. He did, however, miss Yamaguchi's stability and amusingly contradictory appearance and attitude—not many people would expect a guy covered with piercings and tattoos and who favoured a leather jacket to be one of the kindest and most placid people in existence. At least when Yamaguchi lived with him, nobody came tumbling in through the goddamn window in the pitch black coldness of three twenty-seven am.

     Tsukishima pulled a face as he reentered the bedroom, falling onto the bed face-first with a huff. His legs were half-hanging off the bed's edge, but in his fatigue he couldn't bring himself to care. Quiet, blessed quiet, finally, only broken by the quiet ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. It lulled him into a half sleep where he lay drifting, images of Akaashis and Bokutos and an excitable blond girl inexplicably covered in tattoos flickering through his mind like his dreams were on some kind of old, decrepit movie reel. He was dimly aware that when he woke up, his back would be killing him and he would probably be in a bad mood for at least half the day.

     No matter. Let the morning take care of it.

 

***

 

The lines printed into his cheek from sleeping on crumpled bedsheets wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he rubbed at them. Tsukishima glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, then splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would alleviate at least some of his tired appearance.

     A little more alert, he put his glasses back on and half-limped into the kitchen, hoping the shooting pains in his lower back and legs would go away soon. He didn't particularly feel like going out, but his Photography assignment was due next Wednesday, and he still had to figure out lighting and angles and setting, as well as actually finding a subject. Maybe he could just do it inside…Tsukishima cast a look around his apartment, mostly void of decoration aside from a giant stuffed dinosaur in the corner courtesy of Akiteru, and grimaced. That would hardly go down well.

     It was too dim inside, thanks to the heavy curtains drawn across the window. He went to pull them open, squinting at the sudden light, and immediately recoiled at the sight of the smeared, dried up saliva from Akaashi's little session with the glass.

     "Fucking disgusting," he muttered to himself, wetting a cloth and scrubbing the marks off.

     It was a stark reminder of the abnormalities of the night before. Tsukishima pushed up the window and leant out after he finished cleaning, looking down to the concrete below. There was a row of shrubbery there that wouldn't have really cushioned any fall, except maybe to save a cracked skull while every other bone broke. He then glanced to the side, judging the distance between his place and the rusty old fire escape. It was far but not _too_ far, he supposed. Below the rim of each window were short sets of bars that stuck out like little balconies, some of which had hanging plants attached to them by wires. Separating each floor was a jutting out rim of concrete, which was probably what Akaashi had used to secure his footing, and then finally swung himself over the approximately waist-high barred sills…at least Bokuto was only on the second floor. Tsukishima felt ill thinking what would have happened if Bokuto was on the fourth and Akaashi had slipped while doing his drunk acrobatics.

     He tugged the window shut and turned away, going to the kitchen and half-filling the kettle with water. Even though it was late morning, he still needed a coffee before he could face actually going outside. He leant against the counter as the water bubbled noisily, scrolling through his Facebook feed without really paying attention to anything on there—his mind was teeming with potential photography locations that ranged from the easy option of the park outside to the almost impossible option of a couple of country roads near his old high school, Karasuno. The only willing models he could get was Yamaguchi and possibly Yachi, but then their personalities and appearances meant the entire backdrop would have to change and he hadn't even settled on a _theme_ for the photoseries yet.

     A solid rap on the door startled him out of his musings and he looked up with a frown from his phone, where he had been typing a collection of mismatched keywords with brief lines of description attached. There was a brief silence before the knock sounded again, this time a bit more tentative.

     Maybe a delivery or something, even though he didn't remember ordering anything online. "Coming," he called out, plonking his phone on the table and ignoring the anxiously bubbling kettle.

     He didn't bother with the peephole or the security chain, just unlatched the thing and opened the door. "Do I have to sign anyth—um. Who are you?"

     The stranger outside had—there was no other way to describe it—an unusually pretty face, for a guy. For _anyone_ , actually. Defined jawline, short and messy dark hair, impossibly long eyelashes, and half-lidded dark green eyes that were looking quizzically at Tsukishima, who realised he had been staring for a little too long. "Who are you?" he repeated, a little more curt in his embarrassment.

     "Akaashi," said the stranger in a sleep-roughened voice. "The one who came through your window."

     Tsukishima did a double take. "You?"

     Akaashi furrowed his brow. "I was the drunk one last night. You don't remember me?"

     "No, it's just, I didn't have my glasses on," Tsukishima tried to explain. It was true; he wasn't even sure of what Bokuto's face looked like even though they had stared each other down (he thought) for a good moment or two. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

     "I came to apologise, properly." Akaashi drew himself up and Tsukishima could see the dark shadows under his eyes. "I'm sorry for breaking into your apartment and disturbing you, and most likely making a mess. At the time coming from the back seemed quicker."

     Tsukishima was surprised Akaashi could deliver such a concise and polite apology while looking like he was barely suppressing the effects of a huge hangover. Someone at the end of the hall banged their door shut and Akaashi winced noticeably, closing his eyes.

     "Did Bokuto-san tell you it would be quicker?" Tsukishima asked, arching an eyebrow.

     Akaashi blinked his eyes open, looking a little surprised. "Well, he might have mentioned it beforehand when I called him up for directions. I can't really remember."

     As if on cue, someone bellowed from next door, "Akaashi? Where are yo-o-o-u-u?"

     Both of them looked over to 268, Akaashi groaning in exasperation and pain. "Why now."

     "He seems to piss you off a lot, why are you friends?" Tsukishima asked bluntly, listening to the crashes and thuds coming from 268 and wondering what the hell Bokuto was doing to make that much noise.

     "He is a pain," Akaashi agreed. "But we do get along and have since high school, and his enthusiasm is infectious."

     "Infectious?"

     "Yeah, and it feels a little weird to be telling this all to a stranger." There was another bang and a loud swear word. "What's your name?"

     "Tsukishima Kei," Tsukishima said absently. _How does that guy not know the inside of his own apartment?_

     "I'll be straight here," Akaashi winced again as a clunk sounded next to them, rubbing his temple, "I feel sorry for you, Tsukishima Kei."

     Tsukishima's attention was back on him instantly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

     "My best friend has just moved in next to you. Soon his boyfriend Kuroo-san will be joining him and this noise," he jerked his head in the direction of 268, "will definitely increase."

     Tsukishima's mood soured instantly. Hinata and Kageyama had been bad enough. Now there would be a new couple christening every damn corner of that place. "Fucking hell."

     "That's right." Akaashi nodded sagely. "But it isn't as bad as actually living with them. Count yourself luckier than me."

     "You're moving in too?" Great, two irresponsible and loud guys and one very impressionable drunk. He missed Yamaguchi.

     Akaashi nodded again. "We wanted to find a place nearer to Renkai and the apartment complex they owned seemed like a good place."

     Tsukishima started to say _Same for me too_ , when there was a grating sound and Bokuto burst out of his apartment—at least, Tsukishima assumed it was Bokuto. With his glasses on he could finally make out a guy with wild white and black hair sticking straight up like it had been gelled, sharp, golden eyes, and a physique that would have been impressive had he not thrown himself at Akaashi as soon as he spotted him, draping his arms around Akaashi's neck like a wet noodle and interrupting whatever Tsukishima had been about to say. "Yo!" he greeted him. "You're that guy!"

     "I guess."

     Akaashi looked like he was about to have a hernia. "Bokuto-san, please…"

     "Right, right, sorry," Bokuto retreated like Akaashi was on fire. "Forgot."

     "Why were you looking for me?"

     "I don't know where to put your boxes and I've broken my leg five times trying to move stuff around. What are you doing out here?"

     "Apologising to Tsukishima-san."

     "So responsible, that's my Akaashi." Bokuto slapped a hand on Akaashi's shoulder, which he let remain with a long-suffering expression.

     A loud whistling from the kettle sounded behind Tsukishima, interrupting the strange, stilted conversation he'd been having with his new neighbours. "Uh, if you'll excuse me," he said, backing away with a slight bow of his head.

     "Nice meeting you again, Tsukishima-kun," Bokuto sang out, waving his free hand with a toothy grin.

     "Uh, yeah. Sure. Nice meeting you," Tsukishima said, his gaze sliding from Bokuto to Akaashi, their eye contact only broken when the door closed.

     _Well, that was awkward_. He retreated to the safety of his kitchen and a hot cup of coffee, letting the fragrant steam soothe his overwrought nerves. Sober Akaashi wasn't so bad, though—much more restful than a sober Bokuto. He shuddered to think of what a drunk Bokuto would be like, alongside the rumoured hell raiser Kuroo.

     An hour later, he was cleaned up and ready to head out, a couple of solid locations in mind. For a while now there had been raised voices from Bokuto's place, and he could only assume Kuroo had arrived. By the sound of it, they were duking it out on Mario Kart, judging from the repeated, " _Fuck_ you, Donkey Kong"'s and the once anguished cry of "Toad, you two-faced lying _bastard_."

     He slung his book bag across his chest, not actually filled with textbooks, but with a couple of exercise books and a small digital camera for sample images. That all set, he snapped on his headphones and let the steady strumming of an electric guitar fill his eardrums, and left for the stairs.

     The sunlight was warm against his face, a welcome respite from the cold that had been plaguing them since autumn began. More people were out and about on the sidewalk and he wove through them, checking his watch again to make sure he wouldn't be late for the train.

     He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and raised his head, looking around as he walked. To his right was the small park, which had kids crawling all over the playground equipment in the centre while their parents watched on from the benches, chatting with each other. And on a bench that sat to the edge of the park, under the shade of the trees, was Akaashi, his earphones in and his head tilted back.

     Tsukishima couldn't tell if his eyes were closed, but it didn't matter, because as if he had sensed Tsukishima looking at him Akaashi lowered his head, raised a hand, and waved.

     Surprised, he returned the acknowledgement with a nod of his head that perhaps was a bit too curt, and, not knowing what else to do, doubled his pace away from the apartment block. Thanks to his long legs, he was crossing the road within ten seconds and out of the park's vicinity in fifteen.

     It was only when he was passing a convenience store that he wondered why he had been in such a hurry to leave. It wasn't like Akaashi was unbearable—quite the opposite, actually.

     Thinking about it didn't help, only made him confused. Change was irritating. He wished…he wished…he didn't know what he wanted to wish.

     Man, it would be good if he could just take a break from life once in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo was playing Peach and coming third and Toad got him with a banana peel rip


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure how I feel about this fic
> 
> But hey, some people seem to like it so...new chapter. Yeah. It's short and that bugs me...
> 
> Again, thanks to [topftopf](http://topftopf.tumblr.com) for helping me catch the writing bug through our 20 minute writing exchanges. even if I only write like 100 words. luv ya

Tsukishima wasn't the best of photographers, hell, not even the best of amateur photographers, but he knew the basics of angles and lighting. Knew them well enough to see that his ideas weren't exactly working.

     The sidewalk was devoid of people in the quiet, grey dusk. Tsukishima buried his nose in his scarf as he walked back to his apartment, his headphones resting around his neck and the digital camera in his hand. Each sample picture he looked at just wasn't right, it didn't have the element he felt he wanted—not that he knew what that was. The abandoned warehouse was dull and uninspiring, the outdoor volleyball courts had been crammed full of gross sweaty kids, and the few alleys he had been down had been exposed by the daylight as foul-smelling and littered with trash. Ignorance in the throes of a back-alley midnight blowjob was bliss.

     Nothing was useful here. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, tucking the camera back into his bag, crossing the road onto his block. Maybe it would be better to ask Yamaguchi and Yachi and secure his models first, sketch out a couple more concepts—

     " _Hah_! Missed me!"

     The gleeful shout tore through the still evening and the shock of it landed on Tsukishima's head in the form of a giant cardboard box. "Fuck!" he spat out, staggering backwards, his glasses clattering away onto the pavement.

     "You ass, you hit someone with that!"

     An unwelcomely familiar voice joined the cacophony. "It's your fault for ducking!"

     Tsukishima looked up with a glare—that would have been more intimidating if he wasn't squinting—at Bokuto and a person who was probably Kuroo shoving at each other at their open window, each trying to lean out for a better look downwards.

     "Tsukki? Is that you?" Bokuto called down.

     "Who the hell are you calling Tsukki?" he snapped back, rubbing his abused skull.

     "He doesn't like it," Kuroo said, a sly edge in his voice that made Tsukishima absolutely sure they were never going to call him by anything else. “Nice to meet you, Tsukki. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, this ass’s boyfriend.”

     Tsukishima barely acknowledged the introduction, looking away from them to search for his glasses and absently wondering how he could go about staging a double murder and making it look like an Extremely Unfortunate Accident.

    "Oi, what're you doing down there?"

     "Looking for my glasses, which you knocked off my face, Bokuto-san," Tsukishima replied frostily.

     "Eh?"

     "I told you you hit him," Kuroo said with self-satisfaction.

     "It's because you _ducked_! If you had just let me hit you…I'm really sorry, Tsukki!"

     Well, at least he sounded halfway remorseful. But still, "Don't call me Tsukki, Bokuto-san!"

     "Hey, he sounds a little like Akaashi," Kuroo said thoughtfully.

     "Maybe it's because I have manners." Tsukishima really hoped he wasn't about to step on his glasses; the frames were brand new, too.

     "Hey!" Kuroo leaned out a little further. "I heard he fell into your apartment at, what was it, two? "

     Tsukishima shrugged. "He apologised this morning and was sincere about it, so."

     "You forgive me for that, then?" Akaashi materialised by his side and Tsukishima almost jumped out of his skin.

     "What are you doing here?"

     Akaashi picked up something and pressed it into his hands, then ducked behind him and scooped up the box. "Retrieving trash, thrown by trash."

     "I heard that!" Bokuto protested and Akaashi snickered.

     The thing Akaashi had given him was his glasses, thankfully unharmed. Tsukishima breathed a sigh of relief and stuck them back on, just in time to see Bokuto carelessly lowering himself out the window, swinging from the set of bars and dangling his feet in the air. His entire body stretched out so he hung about a quarter below the first floor ridge. "You're going to pay, Akaashi!"

     "You've got to be kidding me," Akaashi muttered, and Tsukishima agreed with the sentiment until he actually saw the exasperation on Akaashi's face wasn't necessarily irritated, more so a kind of helpless tolerance. Well, when Tsukishima thought of Hinata, maybe he could understand. Maybe.

     Alright, not really.

     Bokuto kicked his legs a bit more, like a fly stuck in a web, before adjusting his grip and letting go, landing on slightly bent legs. And staying in that position with his back to them for a good ten seconds.

    "Bokuto, what's wrong?" Kuroo was going to fall out onto his head any second now. That weirdly sticking up hair wouldn't do shit to soften the impact.

     "He jarred his legs, I think." Akaashi stuck the box under his arm and went to Bokuto's side, offering him his shoulder. "You alright to walk?"

     "Not yet," Bokuto said, in the tiniest voice Tsukishima had ever heard.

     "I'll carry you," Kuroo interjected, swinging himself down in a speedy impression of parkour. His landing was nowhere near smooth—he staggered into the line of shrubbery—but at least he didn't jar himself. Spitting out a few leaves, he rushed back over to where they were grouped and gathered Bokuto up in his arms, princess-style.

     Bokuto reacted by throwing his arms around Kuroo's neck and mumbling what sounded like, "save me, my sweet moonlight knight."

_How horrifying._

     "Anything for you," Kuroo promised, patting Bokuto's legs gently and Tsukishima felt both bafflement and revulsion.

     He looked to Akaashi for guidance, but Akaashi no longer was amused or concerned or anything other than extremely unimpressed. "Good job coming down, but how do you plan to get back in?"

     Kuroo stopped in his tracks. "You don't have your key?"

     "Of course not, I assumed you two would be staying _where you were_."

     As if on cue, all three of them—Bokuto by default—turned to Tsukishima.

     "No," Tsukishima said, walking past them and letting himself inside.

     "Please, Tsukki," Kuroo whined, jogging to catch up with him and ignoring Bokuto's repeated "oof"'s, shuffling inside sidewards to avoid whacking his boyfriend's head. "Can we use your place? Just for five minutes?"

     "I don't even know you," Tsukishima said, steadfastly ignoring the curious looks that came from a couple of girls coming down the hallway. Maybe he could escape into the elevator and close it before they managed to get in. "Don't you have someone you can call about this?"

     "Nah," Kuroo said, slipping in the elevator before Tsukishima could even get in, followed closely by Akaashi. "Please?"

     Tsukishima stepped back and let the elevator doors slide shut. He wasn't in the mood to share a confined space with such overbearing people, yet, the muffled cry of "Tsukki!" made him smirk.

     He started up the stairs two at a time, hoping against hope that he would reach his door in time before the others got up. If he was too slow there would be an inevitable shitstorm waiting to burst out of the elevator and engulf him. He already got the gist of what kind of person Kuroo was, and while Akaashi balanced out both Bokuto's and Kuroo's exuberance, Tsukishima wasn't totally sure if Akaashi was trustworthy. Or able to do free climbing when sober.

     He hissed slightly as a splinter grazed his hand, snatching it away from the bannister. At least there wasn't blood—oh, wait, there was a sliver of wood stuck in his palm. Perfect, just perfect. He speed-walked down the hall, trying to pluck out the fragment with his fingernails, and broke into an awkward kind of stilted run when he heard the telltale _ding_ of the elevator.

     Two-six-eight approached. Safety was in sight.

     "There he is! Akaashi, charge him!"

     Tsukishima ran for it and fumbled for his keys, ignoring the pain in his hand. His haven was almost within his grasp—

     "Fine; Kuroo!" Bokuto shouted imperiously.

     Tsukishima felt a rush of air as he inserted the key into the lock and suddenly it felt as if everything went into slow motion—the thumps of Kuroo's feet as he dashed down the hall, the giant shadow looming in the corner of his eye, and then Kuroo's giant grin all in Tsukishima's field of vision along with the promise of death in his eyes.

     _Click_.

    His door swung in and he fell inside, tripping over his own legs. Behind him there was an undignified " _oof_ " as Kuroo's tackle failed and he plummeted to the ground.

     Tsukishima shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, getting to his feet and looking over his shoulder. Kuroo was face planted into the ground, his arms flapped out on either side like he was about to try to breaststroke. "Uuurrgghhh," he groaned into the carpet.

     Tsukishima looked to Bokuto and Akaashi, who stared back at him. Akaashi in particular was quite intense about it.

     And then Bokuto started to move.

     " _No_ ," Tsukishima blurted, kicking the door shut and sliding the lock home.

     The following silence made him wonder if they had given up. He had hoped too soon, though, because the next thing he heard was, "How do you think Tsukki would feel if we broke down his door?"

     "That you're psychotic," came an answer. "And he would get restraining orders."

     "Yeah…ah, you're right." There was a sad sigh and some mumbling Tsukishima couldn't catch, even pressing his ear to the door—wait, why was he even doing that?

     "I'd call Kenma to come by with his spare keys, but he'd just ignore me," Kuroo said despondently. "Guess we're going back down again?"

     "No…no." Bokuto said slowly. "Not 'we're.' Akaashi will definitely die if he climbs sober." Tsukishima could just picture Bokuto wagging a finger in Akaashi's irate face.

     "It's just the second floor, Bokuto-sa—"

     "Two floors too much," Bokuto barked. "Me n'Kuroo will take care of it, you sit tight and wait for us, ok?"

     What the hell were they on about? Tsukishima pressed his face a little harder against the cold wood, like _that_ would help him hear better. His glasses were being pressed off his nose a little.

     "Ugh, whatever."

    "We'll be right up!" Kuroo promised jovially. Their clunking footsteps faded away and Tsukishima stuck his eye to the peephole, seeing Akaashi run a hand through his already messy hair and slump against the opposite wall, and narrow his eyes at him.

     Tsukishima jerked back in shock, the short adrenaline spike sending his heart pumping. _How could he have—wait._ There was no way to actually see through a peephole from the guest's side. Common knowledge, yet…Tsukishima rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows. He was just tired and hungry, so he wasn't thinking straight.

     Before he backed away, though, his body moved without his permission and he was looking out the peephole again, to see Akaashi yawning, not a tired yawn but a yawn of someone bored to death. Come on, the two weren't going to take that long, right?

     Right?

     Tsukishima's hand went on the doorknob.

     _What am I doing_.

     He flipped the lock open— _what what what_.—and against his own will, stuck his head outside. The hallway was deserted apart from Akaashi, who looked up curiously from his phone. "Tsukishima-san? Don't tell me you changed your mind."

     "Of course not," Tsukishima said brusquely. "Just…it had gone quiet so…why are you up here alone anyway? Did they both go down there?"

     Akaashi shrugged. "They just want to make out in the elevator. They'll take a while."

     Tsukishima blanched. "Thanks for the mental image. And doesn't going down one floor take like, five seconds?"

     "They'd put the elevator on hold or whatever it is they do. Once they got stuck in a different building for an hour and a half."

     Unbelievable. Tsukishima rested his left hand against the doorframe and winced immediately; he had forgotten there was still a splinter embedded in his flesh. "Dammit," he muttered, scratching at it.

     "Are you ok?"

     "Fine, just a splinter." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Akaashi walking over curiously.

     "You'll make it worse by scratching at it—"

     "I know, I know," Tsukishima cut in, scratching at it anyway.

     Akaashi rested the cardboard box down, held out his hand, palm up, and raised an eyebrow.

     It took Tsukishima a moment to notice Akaashi's proffered hand. "Huh? What do you want?"

     A little sigh escaped Akaashi's lips and he grabbed Tsukishima's hand, turning it firmly so the small wound was facing up. "You'd force it right into the bone, the way you're going," was his explanation.

     "Don't exaggerate," Tsukishima retorted.

     He couldn't help but look up and down the hallway, hoping nobody would come out of their apartments and wonder what the two were doing, with one guy just poring over and poking at another guy's hand. It felt embarrassing already but if anyone else passed by, his discomfort would only escalate. He settled for shifting on his feet and after a bit opened his mouth to ask why it was taking so long, when Akaashi said, "I can't see properly out here. Do you have a better light inside?"

     Taken aback by the blunt request, he only managed a "Yeah" before Akaashi picked up his box and was inside and he was staring at the shorter guy's back, wondering why he even let him in (again). It wasn't as if he had tackled him or tried to, like Kuroo had wonderfully demonstrated just before, but it was like…he felt more at ease with this one. But he _shouldn't_ , he should be wary of the person who had broken into his apartment. What if he tried to steal something now? Not that there was anything of worth to steal.

      He tried to reign his paranoia in a bit and followed Akaashi, who was flicking light switches and staring at the ceiling. "This one," he said, squinting at the light above the kitchen counter. He tossed the box to the side, waved his arm out and Tsukishima placed his hand on Akaashi's by reflex, which again made him frown. Too late to pull away though.

     "Is that a dinosaur?"

     Tsukishima stiffened. "From my brother."

     "You like them?" Akaashi was studying the dinosaur thoughtfully, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

     Tsukishima felt his fingers twitch involuntarily. "Yeah. What of it?"

     There was a pause as Akaashi turned to Tsukishima's hand and started to worry at the splinter. "Nothing. It's cool."

     _Cool?_ Did that mean he was trying to placate Tsukishima's defensiveness, or saying his interest was cool? Tsukishima couldn't really help being defensive about stuff people like Kageyama had poked fun at him for multiple times. It wasn't really embarrassment, per say, he just liked to avoid the topic.

     He stared down at Akaashi's head for lack of better things to do while his hand was being operated on. Akaashi's hair was unusually messy but it was hard to tell because it was so dark and fairly short, unlike Kuroo's absolutely ridiculous hairstyle. Who even wanted half their hair sticking up like an electrocuted rooster?

     Akaashi had started trying to grab at the splinter with his fingernails. They weren't clipped short as Tsukishima's and were clean and neat, except for his index one, which looked a little raggedy around the edges. It took only a few moments this time before he secured the tip of the splinter, his tongue poking between his teeth, and extricated it like he was playing a game of Operation.

     "Ah, you got it?" Tsukishima pulled his hand away hurriedly, rubbing at it to remove the feel of Akaashi's fingers.

     "You're welcome," Akaashi replied smoothly, flicking the sliver of wood into the sink. "Your hand alright?"

     It was reddened and still stung a bit, but there was no bleeding. "It's fine," he said. "Thank—"

     "Do you need me to give you a boost?" Bokuto hollered from outside.

     Akaashi checked his watch. "They took less time than I expected."

     "Does this…happen a lot?"

     "Usually. At least at the old building I kept my key with me," he said, gazing at the direction of the window sadly.

     “You’d die if you let go to boost me,” Kuroo shouted.

     There was a clatter and a panicked cry from Bokuto. “What are you two delinquents doing up there?” screeched an unknown voice.

     Tsukishima and Akaashi exchanged a look and hurried to the window, Tsukishima flipping the knob and sliding it up.

     “Oh cra—I mean, ma’am, please excuse us, we locked ourselves out of our apartment,” Kuroo tried.

     Both he and Bokuto were flanking the window of the second apartment next to the fire escape, and Tsukishima couldn’t see any attempts to be smooth going well, judging from the occupant’s irate squawking. Kuroo attempting smooth while dangling awkwardly on the outside of a building like Romeo gone wrong equated to Tuxedo Mask attempting smooth while wearing underwear on his head. In short, it wasn’t going to fly.

     “Are you trying to break in and steal my family heirlooms?” the old lady wailed. Kuroo had begun to inch slowly to the right. “Or to desecrate the shrine for my husband?”

    “We would never dream of doing such terrible things!” Bokuto gave her a toothy, unconvincing grin. Kuroo reached for the barred sill of their room. “We just locked ourselves out—dumb mistake, I know. We’ll be past you in two seconds flat, we promise!”

     Now all that was left of Kuroo was his legs kicking wildly as he forced himself inside the flat. The end of that sight was followed shortly by a loud thump and a groan.

     “See, he’s already in!” Bokuto had made it to the other side of the old lady’s apartment and was reaching out for his. “It was lovely to meet you, ma’am, although I wish it was in more pleasant circumstances.”

     “He’s calmed her down.” Tsukishima was faintly fascinated. Bokuto finally was outside his own place and blew the lady a dramatic kiss. “I can’t believe he did that.”

     “Could just be the Bokuto Effect,” Akaashi said noncommittally, pulling back from the window.

     “The what?” Tsukishima watched as Bokuto scrambled up, helped by Kuroo, until they toppled inside.

     Akaashi shrugged. “Sometimes he’s good at convincing people to feel what he wants them to feel. It doesn’t always work.”

     “You were _amazing_!” they heard Kuroo exclaim from next door, then a long silence.

     Tsukishima felt his insides squirm. “Shouldn’t you be going back now?”

     “Mm, I should.” Without warning Akaashi turned back to the window and swung himself outside easily, reaching for the sill with not so much as a blink.

     “Akaashi-san, what—what the hell!” Tsukishima wasn’t sure why he was whisper-yelling.

     “Thanks for the shortcut, Tsukishima-san,” Akaashi whisper-called back, pulling himself up so he was seated on the sill, then spinning around and jumping neatly into the apartment.

     Wait, Tsukishima knew what was coming.

     “Aarrgghh!” Bokuto and Kuroo screamed in unison.

     “What the fuck, get out, I have a—hey, it’s Akaashi. _Akaashi_?”

     “That’s my name.”

     Tsukishima smirked and was about to close his curtains when he heard Bokuto’s muffled, “Don’t tell me you snuck in just then, how did you— _ohhh_.”

     “What?”

     “I bet a thousand yen he charmed Tsukki.”

     “He _definitely_ charmed Tsukki,” Kuroo agreed.

     “Don’t be ridiculous, I was just civil to him.”

     “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” Bokuto said smugly, his voice fading slightly as they moved away from the window.

     “You’d be surprised at the ways people react when you treat them politely,” Akaashi said peevishly.

     “How did he react when you fell into his place the other night?”

     “Shut up.”

     Whatever else they said was lost as Tsukishima snapped his headphones back on and cranked up the volume. Soon some bouncy pop music dominated his hearing, courtesy of Hinata’s sneak downloads, but at least he couldn’t hear whatever conversation his neighbours were having. Conversations that were making his face burn uncomfortably.

     Half an hour and two cups of instant ramen later, he was sitting cross-legged at the kotatsu using the plush dinosaur as a cushion when his phone started buzzing off the tabletop. Pushing away the sketches he’d been working on, Tsukishima picked up the mobile and glared at it like it had said something particularly offensive.

     The caller ID showed it was Yamaguchi—or at least “Yama” with a ton of emojis stuck on the end. Hinata’s handiwork that Tsukishima still couldn’t be bothered to change. He took off his headphones and swiped the screen to accept the call. “Hello?”

     “ _Hi! Hey is that…is that you?_ ”

     Tsukishima wanted to let his head fall onto the kotatsu. Why was everyone perpetually drunk all of a sudden? “It’s me,” he confirmed flatly.

     “ _Tsukki, Tsukki my, my man_ ,” Yamaguchi slurred, followed by a series of hiccups. “ _I was hoping you’d call. I mean I’d call. I mean. Um. Something_.”

     “I sure hope you mean something.”

     “ _M’not gonna…look, I’m so sorry, Tsukki, I just got your text before and_ hic _me and Yachi are going to her mother’s tomorrow for, uh, three days? Or four days. Days._ ”

      Tsukishima rolled his eyes. Yamaguchi drunk was like a ticking time bomb, if bombs covered you in overemotional best friends rambling endlessly and sobbing their tears down your neck. At least he had the barrier of distance, but there was no telling when Yamaguchi was going to start crying. “I get it, I get it. It’s alright. Good luck for the morning.”

     “ _Tsukki, I’m so-o-o-r-r—_ ” Yamaguchi drawled, stopped midsentence by the blip of Tsukishima hanging up. He could almost smell that apology ending in messy emotions.

     Plunking the phone down, he rested back on his hands, shaking his foot with irritation as he thought. No ideal setting, check. No available models, check.

     He wondered if his teacher would accept selfies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi Akaashi totally noticed Tsukishima's nice hands too
> 
> also yes he forgot his dumb box when Tarzan-ing it out of there
> 
> come bully me @[rincentric](http://rincentric.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas you filthy sinful volleydorks
> 
> shoutout to [topftopf](http://topftopf.tumblr.com) and [amarnur](http://amarnur.tumblr.com) for being kool kids
> 
>  
> 
> comments literally sustain me hinthinthinthinthint

Tsukishima wondered if their neighbouring apartments were empty, or everyone just had very bad hearing. There had to be a reason why nobody else was complaining about Bokuto and Kuroo’s ridiculously loud sex.

     At first he thought he could block it out with his music and get on with life. It worked, until it was three am and his headphones slipped off and he was woken up by strangled moans, gasps and grunts, and the worst: the banging of their headboard against his wall. He was going to have to move his stuff into Yamaguchi’s old room at this rate.

     The first time it woke him up was on Night Two of their move in, where he had almost fallen off the bed in his disorientation, realised what was making the noise, and promptly yelled, “Shut the fuck off”.

     To which he received the following response: “The fuck stays on.” Cue more grunts.

     He had opted into dragging his blanket into the living room and turning on the heater under the kotatsu, clamping his headphones on and sticking his legs under for the warmth. He was too tired to care about the fire hazard. Bokuto and Kuroo could pay reparations if he woke up half fried to a crisp.

     The morning of Day Three dawned on a grouchy and tired Tsukishima (really, what was new) downing exactly three and a half cups of straight black coffee just to keep his eyes open. How Akaashi had been able to manage for so long, Tsukishima had no idea. God had probably blessed him with fortitude unknown to the common man.

     They hadn’t seen each other in a full day though, with Tsukishima out all day working his part time job at a nearby cake shop and then finally finding a good photo setting afterwards. To be safe, though, he threw an unopened box of Panadol into the empty cardboard box Akaashi had forgotten the other night, and left it outside two-eight-six before he headed out to class.

     The lecture room was small, cramped and smelled a bit musty, or maybe that was just the old professor puttering about up front. Tsukishima flicked his pen around his fingers as he half-listened to the introduction on panoramics, then the internet proved too tempting to resist and he was on his phone, flicking through pages of Renkai's various courses. History major, nope. Philosophy, he’d probably want to punch himself in the face after a day. Teacher, definitely not. Kids were cute but that cute hid demonic tendencies, and he had no wish to deal with puberty-riddled teens either.

     The indecision was giving him a bad taste in the back of his throat. He exited the Renkai tabs quickly, moving onto his Facebook feed. _Two Friend Requests_ , he saw, the automatic notifications for which he hadn’t seen since he cleared his notifications as soon as they cropped up without actually checking them. And surprise, surprise, who should he see but Kuroo and Bokuto.

     Part of him was miffed and another part relieved that Akaashi hadn’t jumped onto the bandwagon. Glancing up over the rim of his glasses, Tsukishima noted the new slide the professor had moved onto, scribbled some keywords in his textbook, and embarked on a good old fashioned round of Facebook stalking.

     Unfortunately both their profiles were set to private, so Tsukishima bit the bait and accepted the requests, praying that they wouldn’t notice immediately and start a barrage of messages. If anything got too intense he could always block them. Alright, he thought to himself, just barely catching his pen as he almost flicked it right into the air. Bokuto first.

     In the space of a minute he concluded that Bokuto’s profile was run by an alter ego, or an alien, or Akaashi helping his friend save face. Every post was weirdly respectable and restrained, and the neat little bow on the package came in the form of near perfect grammar and spelling. _Great stuff—worth looking_ into and _Finally got around to moving the last of the boxes today. I’d say home sweet home but Kuroo smells too much._ Apart from the dig at Kuroo, Tsukishima hadn’t expected that in the slightest.

     The articles shared were all sports related, mostly about volleyball, and the statuses were just random life updates with a positive outlook with added and strictly controlled snarkiness, and through them Tsukishima learned Bokuto was two years from finishing his sports physiotherapist degree and already worked part time at a reputable physio. No wonder the ever honourable profile, he couldn’t be going around scaring away potential clients. Tsukishima wondered how much Bokuto physically hurt having to self-censor like that.

     He resigned himself to the same personality flip for Kuroo, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Kuroo let go where Bokuto held on (although Tsukishima had come to seriously suspect Akaashi controlled what went on Bokuto’s profile), posting pictures of drunk antics, sloppy kisses with an untagged Bokuto, lots of photos of shoes and volleyball courts and a few blurred shots of a guy clutching a game controller who badly needed to re-bleach his roots.

     A few more rounds of clicking and scrolling and he found out they shared a few mutual friends, mostly his senpai from Karasuno. A couple of seconds dedicated to typing and Akaashi’s profile was up on his screen, unsurprisingly set to private, and surprisingly containing a profile picture where he was smiling. He was standing with a group of other guys in volleyball shirts, off to the right, Bokuto and Kuroo flanking him with matching giant grins. The photo was simply labelled “finals”.

     Looked like they all were in Renkai's Volleyball Club then. Tsukishima had considered joining it, but Kageyama and Hinata’s whirlwind university transfer after a sports school that offered internal accommodation snapped them up, and Yamaguchi’s following move a few weeks after had interfered enough that he had forgotten clean about it. It was only a quarter ways through semester one of his first year anyhow; he could join next semester or the following year. No skin off his nose. Maybe he could get Yamaguchi to join with him, he thought, then immediately scoffed at the irony. In high school, it had been Yamaguchi who encouraged him to join the club in the first place.

     He closed the Chrome app and locked his phone before he could do anything stupid, such as friend request Akaashi. His phone buzzed with a notification almost instantly and without bothering to look, he powered the device off, and turned his focus to the lecture.

     Class ended at 12 PM sharp, and the sun was high overhead when the motely bunch of students trooped out of the lecture theatre. There were no clouds but the warmth was thin, easily shaken by the wind’s chilled bite. Tsukishima threaded his way through the collection of students waiting for their next classes and decided it was time to face the music.

     Rather than being messaged individually, he soon discovered he had been added to a group chat with the Infamous Three plus the mysterious Kenma. Following his addition was a string of messages between Bokuto and Akaashi, which had petered off about ten minutes ago.

 

**Bokuto Koutarou:**

          akaashi have you added him yet?

he lives next door anyway

          we’re practically family（●´∀｀）ノ♡

**Akaashi Keiji:**

he doesn’t need another friend req

          He’s already got two of his creepy neighbours as Facebook friends

**Bokuto Koutarou:**

          he accepted tho that’s the point ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ)

he loves us deep down

          even though he’s known us for less than a week

          with soulmates you can tell u know

**Akaashi Keiji:**

You’ve been talking about this with Kuroo-san haven’t you    

          He probably accepted the requests to scope out your profiles

          I would too

          I heard social media accounts can contain tells of whether or not someone is danger to society

**Bokuto Koutarou:**

          ( ≧Д≦) that’s so mean Akaashi ｡゜(｀Д´)゜｡

we aren’t crazy (｡•́︿•̀｡) but my fb account is clean because of my job lolol

          we may not have had the best first impression on tsukki tho

**Akaashi Keiji**

          I was only kidding

          And…yeah that goes for all of us haha

**Bokuto Koutarou:**

          has tsukki seen this yet?

          Tsukki who do you think had the worst first impression

          it can’t be me all I did was thank him for saving your life Akaashi

          so what’s it gonna be, the window jumping or drunken room invasion?

          the body tackle probably counts

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          I said not to call me Tsukki

          It’s hard to decide

          Since the first impression I got from Kuroo-san was when that box hit me and I looked up and saw him yelling

 

Browsing through the chat history took Tsukishima to his favourite on campus café, the only one that actually served strawberry shortcake. It wasn’t as good as the stuff in the cake shop he worked in, but it’d sustain him for now. He doubled checked his watch--one hour and forty-five minutes until his shift started at 2 PM. He liked morning shifts more than afternoon ones, but closing up shop at 6:30 did have a sort of satisfaction to it.

     His phone dinged again as he dug the plastic fork into the cake, letting his hot chocolate cool in favour of the treat.

 

**Kuroo Tetsurou:**

          he’s alive! ヾ(@°▽°@)ノ

          how’s uni tsukki

          today’s my day off hahahaha

          how’s life

          also that box wasn’t from me it doesn’t count

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          It definitely counts

          It counts because I say so

**Kuroo Tetsurou:**

          so cold, tsukki-chan

          im shivering

          gonna become one big goosebump

 

Tsukki-chan? Really? Tsukishima felt a vein twitch in his temple; this was far past overkill.

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          Never call me Tsukki-chan

          I’ll leave this chat

          Also block all of you

          And move out

**Kuroo Tetsurou:**

          you really are cold tsukki (๑◕︵◕๑)

          you really are like akaashi

          except he’s less cynical I think

          man it’s so cold im actually shaking kenma tell them as proof

**Kozume Kenma:**

          maybe its bc ur wearing shorts and a singlet

          idrc

          hello Tsukishima-san

          sry abt kuroo

**Kuroo Tetsurou:**

          he says he’s my best friend too

          where’s the friend support I don’t see it

**Bokuto Koutarou:**

          i’ll give it to you ❤

          give u other things too

          HEY TSUKKI!!

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          Hello.

 

The cake was now just crumbs on a plate and Tsukishima leant back in his chair, sipping the hot chocolate. Strawberry shortcake portions were always too small. He remembered how he had made them at home a few times—the first with Hinata was an absolute disaster that ended with Hinata chowing down _uncooked sponge cake mix,_ and Tsukishima giving up and taking the punnet of strawberries to his room to eat in shameful silence. The second time with Yamaguchi went a little better, aside from the fact Yamaguchi managed to slice his fingers twice while cutting strawberries with a relatively blunt knife, then dropped the bowl of whipped cream on his foot, topping everything off by burning his neck when he opened the oven door and let his metallic pendant dangle in the midst of the heat while poking at the cake dish with an oven glove.

     The third time with Yachi worked like a charm. From then, Yachi had been his baking partner if Tsukishima felt like making anything away from the comfort of the cake shop. But even that had its hiccups. He still remembered the flour fight.

     Thinking about cake making led to thinking about the expenses of the ingredients, which led to thoughts about how he was going to pay the bills. Yamaguchi had encouraged him to find a new roommate but he’d just been putting it off, and even though the apartment was tiny—the kotatsu filled about a third of the ‘living room’—what he was making from his job couldn’t cover everything. His mother was already helping with university fees, so he definitely couldn’t siphon anything off her.

     The warmth of the hot chocolate seeped into his veins and his eyelids grew heavy. Too bad he couldn’t just fall asleep here. And the possibility that someone would snap a picture rested at 100%.

     Bokuto and Kuroo seemed to have forgotten grilling Tsukishima for worst first impressions and were throwing pickup lines and sexually suggestive phrases at each other like there was no tomorrow.

 

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          Guys

          Stop

          You have a private chat for a reason

          How are you, Tsukishima-san?

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          Fine thanks

          Going to head to my part time job soon

          You can go ahead and friend request me btw, I don’t really mind

 

And the truth was, he didn’t mind. Even though…

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          I think I have to settle on the drunken home invasion as worst first impression.

          But you saved face the next morning

          Compared to Kuroo-san with the box-throwing and the consequential body-tackling…add those two up and the negativity of those impressions outweigh yours

**Kuroo Tetsurou:**

          the box wasn’t from me!! 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          It’s still part of the first impression, which is the whole point of this

          Sorry Akaashi-san

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          Lol it’s ok

          thanks for the painkillers

          I’d just run out

 

A little ‘1’ popped up under his friend notifications. Tsukishima thumbed the ‘accept’ button, chewing on the inside of his lip.

 

**Bokuto Koutarou:**

          ruude

          tsukki where do you work ╭( ･ㅂ･)و

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          I will never tell you where I work

          Ever

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          Wise decision

**Kuroo Tetsurou:**

          really unwise ໒( •́ ∧ •̀ )७

          We’d keep you good company

          work is always boring

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          I need to pay bills and I can’t do that if I’m fired

          Which reminds me, do you guys know anyone looking for a room

          My friend moved out and I need to split paying all this stuff with someone

 

Tsukishima took a deep breath as he finished sending the messages. There. It was done. He wasn’t certain if he’d seriously take on board anyone suggested in the chat, since there was a weighty risk of them being as rambunctious as his current neighbours. Well, two of them anyway. It didn’t hurt to ask, he told himself, finishing off the last of his hot chocolate. If they came up with anyone he’d just stick them in a consideration pile.

     He pictured Yamaguchi reprimanding him and telling him to _give people a chance, Tsukki_ , but after all, Tsukishima wasn’t a saint. He left the wholehearted stuff up to his childhood friend and settled for, as Kuroo had observed, cynicism. It wasn’t as if he could help it.

     He sent off a few quick texts asking for his other friends to ask around if possible, and muted the group chat so his phone wouldn’t chime every time Kuroo wanted to explain how any object could be seen as vaguely phallic if you concentrated hard enough, or when Bokuto felt like sending a thousand links to owl vines. Even though, he thought as he walked toward the bus and narrowed his eyes at his phone, some of those vines were actually pretty funny.

     He was about to go Wikipedia the recent Mososaurus fossil discovery in Japan when his phone started ringing. “Yamaguchi? Feeling better now?” he started off dryly.

     “ _Tsukki I’m sorry!_ ” was what Yamaguchi blurted in response. “ _I should have told you I was going away with Hitoka-chan for the weekend earlier instead when I was drunk_.”

     “Eh, you would have told me sooner or later.” Tsukishima shrugged his indifference even though Yamaguchi wasn’t there to see it. “What’s the problem now?”

     “ _Problem? There’s no problem, it’s just my approach was probably really rude, and I don’t remember half of it which makes it even ruder. I’m really sorry!_ ” he repeated.

     “Don’t worry about it,” Tsukishima reassured him. The bus rolled into his stop and he stood up, shouldering his backpack. “The bus is here so I’m hanging up. Are you going to come by the shop later?”

     “ _Of course, I’m still packing right now though._ ” Yamaguchi laughed a little, a bit breathless. Tsukishima could detect a strong undercurrent of anxiety in that laugh. “ _To think Hitoka-chan sprang this on me just yesterday. I think it was an impulse invitation from her mother to meet me. Hah…I think I need another drink._ ”

     “Breathe, Tadashi,” Tsukishima said firmly, feeling like a parent. “Don’t drown yourself again. I’ll talk with you about it later.”

     “ _Sh-sure, Tsukki. See you._ ”

     Yamaguchi usually barely touched alcohol. The prospect of meeting Yachi’s mother had really gotten to him, Tsukishima mused as he found a comfortable window seat. He made a mental note to have something at the cake shop ready for Yamaguchi to take on the bullet train over, something that would warm Yachi-san up to him, even though there was really nothing not to like. First impressions were important, of course.

     Twenty-four minutes later and he was stepping off the bus a bit more stressed than when he had got on. None of the people he contacted knew anyone who was looking for a room. Kuroo had brought up Kenma since Kenma still lived at home, but was immediately shot down by his friend. It appeared that Kenma was just fine where he was. Unfortunate; Tsukishima found he was kind of liking the guy after witnessing him shut down Kuroo multiple times with little more than a few misspelt words. Akaashi and Bokuto were still offline, so he stowed his phone in his bag and entered the shop from the back.

     The smell of fresh bread enveloped him, along with the sweetness of cakes and tarts. He nodded his greeting to the pastry chef Hashihara Eri, who responded with a cheery smile before returning to carefully icing a cake.

     It was pretty warm in there, and he stowed his jacket in the usual cubby along with his bag and headphones.

     “Ah, Tsukishima-kun, you’re early!” A woman came bustling in from the front, holding an empty bread tray. Wisps of brown hair escaped her wide headband, framing her pointed face. “Kaito-kun will be glad for the extra help. He’s out front now, put on your apron and check up with him.”

     “Sure thing, Yamada-san.” He caught the apron she tossed to him and fastened it around his waist. He put on their uniform cap with some reluctance—it always made him feel a bit stupid.

     “Hey, Tsukishima,” Kaito greeted him over his shoulder when he emerged, his hands busy arranging the cakes in one of the display cases. “How was uni?”

     “Same old.” He checked over the loaves next to the counter, taking a mental inventory. “Has it been busy?”

     “Eh, not very, just the usuals.”

     A young couple walked in and Tsukishima abandoned the fledging conversation to go assist them. An assortment of sweets for dessert following a family dinner was easy enough to help them put together, and soon enough he was ringing up their order and watching their backs as they left, the store bell tinkling in their wake.

     “How’re things with finding a flatmate?” Kaito asked, joining Tsukishima at the register. A bit of his pointed fringe poked through the bottom of his cap’s band, forming a little triangle.

     “Not so good,” Tsukishima said. “I think my new neighbours are going to discourage anyone who’s interested though. Kaito, they _won’t stop having sex_.” He looked at his co-worker in exasperation. “I don’t even care if that’s too much information.”

     Kaito was choking back a laugh. “I don’t envy you. I’ve never been on the receiving end of that.”

     Tsukishima threw him a look that was a mix between incredulousness and disgust. Kaito only laughed harder.

     “What are you boys on about?” Yamada Yoriko was bustling out from the back, a gleam in her eye. “It might be empty in here for now but that doesn’t mean you can goof off, you hear?”

     “Yes, Yamada-san,” they said in unison.

     Yoriko rolled her eyes. “Come to the back, Kaito-kun. Tsukishima-kun, you can handle it out here until it gets too busy, then you call.”

     They both made noses of acknowledgement. “Have fun,” Kaito said, clapping Tsukishima on the shoulder as he left. Tsukishima brushed his hand off, giving him the stink-eye.

     Yamaguchi would be showing up eventually, maybe with Yachi. Tsukishima ran through a mental list of what would be best for him to take to Yachi-san. Maybe a dozen of their mini-cupcakes? Or the lemon swirl tarts. Possibly the chocolate mousse cake, which was Yoriko’s specialty. It had to be kept cool, though. Best store it in a plastic container as well instead of their usual cake boxes.

     People came and went. It got a little busier around four, so Kaito came out to help with the customers. After the rush died down, Yoriko emerged to hand Tsukishima a broom and he swept up around the front, thankful that the cake shop was on a relatively quiet street and he didn’t have the thrum of traffic filling his ears. Kaito appeared back at the front windows, pulling down a few shades to block the sun, making a few rude hand gestures at Tsukishima when Yoriko wasn’t looking. Tsukishima glanced around to make sure nobody was watching before he returned the gestures with equal rudeness.

     He finished cleaning up and returned inside, stowing away the broom. “Tsukishima-kun, come help me with this.” Yoriko beckoned with a flour covered hand. “We’re out of sakuramochi, could you sort that out? Eri-chan did up the dough just before, so just dye and roll.”

     Tsukishima complied, washing his hands and getting the water and dye ready. “Yamada-san, do we have any mousse cake left? I need to get some for a friend.”

     Yoriko straightened from where she had been checking one of the ovens. “Chocolate or strawberry?”

     “Chocolate.” This red dye was getting all over his fingers, much to Eri’s evident amusement.

     “There’s some slices out front and more in the refrigerator, you can have the ones you want at half price.” Yoriko smiled at him and Tsukishima felt that if he didn’t have his cap on, she would be patting his head like a mother.

     “Thank you very much, Yamada-san.”

     “Maximum five slices though!” she warned, pointing a threatening finger at him.

     The bell at the front trilled and Kaito called out, “Yamada-san!” Straightening her headband, she took a deep breath and left.

     Tsukishima finished the sakuramochi and stowed half in the fridge, taking the rest out to arrange in the chilled display case. Halfway through the task a loud “Tsukki!” told him Yamaguchi had arrived. “Hey, Kaito-kun,” Yamaguchi added.

     “Great to see you, Yamaguchi.”

     “Hey.” Tsukishima straightened up, dusting his hands off on his apron. “How are you?”

     At the short question, Tsukishima watched Yamaguchi’s cheer stutter and fall in real time. “I’m…ah…now I’m thinking about tomorrow again.” He looked seconds away from tearing out his hair.

     “Even at school you never saw Yachi’s mother? We were friends with Yachi back then too.”

     “Only once or twice.” Yamaguchi shrugged helplessly. “I’ve never really talked to her, and back then I didn’t have all this either.” He gestured vaguely at his whole body, indicating the tattoos Tsukishima knew covered his arms and part of his back.

     “Nobody would ever think you were yakuza, trust me.”

     “But she’s Hitoka-chan’s _mother_! She’ll judge this kind of stuff, I know it I know it I know it.”

     Tsukishima wasn’t going to let Yamaguchi work himself up anymore. “Come around to the back and I’ll get you some water. Yamada-san won’t mind.”

     Yamaguchi followed gladly, bowing a respectful greeting to Eri and Yoriko. “Hello again, Hashihara-san, Yamada-san.”

     “Yamaguchi-kun, hello.”

     “It’s a pleasure to see you, Yamaguchi-kun.” Eri stuck a teaspoon in her mouth from a pot on the stove and frowned. “Come over here, I need a taste tester.”

     “So that’s the friend that wants the chocolate mousse cake?” Yoriko asked Tsukishima, tilting her head.

     “Yes, he’s meeting his girlfriend’s mother,” Tsukishima said, at the same time Yamaguchi told Eri, “More salt would be good, I think.”

     “More _salt_?”

     “Go on, trust me on this one.”

     “That kind of confrontation could strain anyone’s nerves, couldn’t it?” Yoriko said, gazing at Yamaguchi and Eri, who were now discussing the pros and cons of sea salt versus table salt. Eventually Eri took another spoonful of whatever was in the pot, added a touch of sea salt, and made a sound of surprised contentment when it made contact with her tongue. “I still remember meeting my mother and father in law, it felt like my heart would stop.”

     Tsukishima winced. “Don’t mention that to Yamaguchi.”

     “Of course.” She patted his arm and went to the fridge, pulling out the mousse slices. “Yamaguchi-kun, I have your cake here on behalf of Tsukishima-kun, it’s on the house. How do you want it packaged?”

     “Cake?” Yamaguchi turned to them, confused. “What cake?”

     “For you to take to Yachi’s mother,” Tsukishima broke in. “She’d find it hard to judge anyone who brought her cake, right?”

     “Especially if it’s mine,” Yoriko said proudly.

     Yamaguchi’s mouth started trembling. “Tsukki…”

     “No need to thank me,” Tsukishima said, meaning it. It would feel awkward. He was also ready to hold a tearful Yamaguchi at arm’s length, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

     “Thank you so much, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi inhaled deeply, stemming his tide of emotions, and smiled gratefully, completely disregarding what Tsukishima had said. “That really helps.”

     A while later and Yamaguchi had carefully stowed a plastic container of cake into the cubby beneath his motorbike seat, fastened his helmet, and was waving goodbye as he sped off down the street.

     “Don’t know why he’s so worried. Even if he _was_ yakuza he’s the kind of guy all parents love to love,” Kaito chuckled. When Tsukishima didn’t respond right away, Kaito took the wet cloth he’d been using to clean the glass of the cabinets and flick him. He missed spectacularly but Tsukishima still glared.

     “Do that again and I’ll shove your face in the cheesecake,” he threatened. “I’m going to take my break now.”

     Instead of sitting inside where he usually did while taking his break, Tsukishima chose to stand out behind the bakery. The air wasn’t as chilly as last night, and he hoped the cold spell wouldn’t be over that quickly.

     Leaning against the wall and chewing on a granola bar, he unlocked his phone and began scrolling through various app updates before moving onto Facebook. There, something caught his eye: a private message from Akaashi.

     What could he be wanting? Tsukishima opened the chat, not sure where his trepidation was coming from.

 

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          You’re still looking for someone to share with right?

 

Hope stirred to life in Tsukishima. Akaashi had found someone? Someone who was able to put up with veritably over-enthusiastic neighbours?

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          Yeah, you know anybody?

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          Sure I do

          Me

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the longest chapter and like. nothing happened. it might have been boring for you. but this fic is pretty self-indulgent so I'm just...going at my own snail pace here....wooh wooh
> 
> don't ask me to timestamp the Facebook messages because I Will Not because it will Break My Skull Okay
> 
> bonus kudos + a chapter dedication to you if you know where Kaito is from/who he's based on. smokey this does not include you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how did this even get to 4.5k+ idk. apparently akaashi's pain takes up time. and words.
> 
> BIG THANKS TO [SABASAMA](http://sabasama.tumblr.com) FOR HEADCANONING WITH ME and then we derailed into smut headcanons wtf happened
> 
> **SHOUTOUT TO[shizuu](http://shizuumi151.tumblr.com) for knowing where Kaito's inspiration came from! Hint, it's [this guy.](http://rincentric.tumblr.com/post/111243871936)**
> 
>  **Quick edit:** I had to change a few small details up in earlier chapters so I could sort out what's what, etc. Now: they all live in student accommodation apartments associated with Renkai University, not just random apartment housing.

 

“Yo, Akaashi.” Kuroo took his mobile away from his ear briefly for the greeting, his eyes glazed over with distraction.

     “Hi,” Akaashi said, but Kuroo had already gone back to arguing with whoever was on the phone about some project they were working on. He was quite worked up about it, if the way he was repeatedly grabbing at his hair and actually flattening his typical bedhead was anything to go by.

     “No, no, it’s not that equation. Remember what Hiroshi-sensei said again? That equation we went over…yes…no…yes…how else would we measure that?” He rustled with the open notebook spread out before him, surrounded by two other textbooks, a laptop, and several hand drawn diagrams. “A pentagram? What the fuck?”

     Spending the morning with Kenma hanging out at his house either meant Kuroo had already finished his part (42% chance) or he had procrastinated until the last minute and Kenma forced him away (58% chance). Akaashi was prepared to believe the second choice wholeheartedly, until Kuroo slapped the phone onto the table and threw his hands up, yelling at it.

     “For God’s sake, this is due tomorrow and you haven’t done shit! I’ve tried my best here, Furihata, but you need to wrap your head around the fact _we aren’t going to do your work for you_ , especially when you’re still on the layout stage!”

     Akaashi dumped his shoulder bag on the kitchen counter and filled a glass with water, and set it down gently beside Kuroo, who looked at it, looked at Akaashi, then back to the glass, and then seemed to deflate. He took a long gulp of water and returned his attention to the phone, from which Akaashi could hear a stuttering litany of apologies.

     “Thanks,” Kuroo sighed quietly to Akaashi, running a hand through his hair again. “I can’t believe this guy.”

     “Kinda know how you feel,” Akaashi tried to console him. “Group work is shit.”

     “You’re telling me.” Kuroo took another drink of water, then picked up his mobile and cut off whatever Furihata was bumbling on about. “Okay, look. I’m sorry I yelled. Let’s just go over it again from the very beginning and you can point out the stuff on the way where you’re stuck.”

     Akaashi decided it was time to leave Kuroo to his mechanical engineering devices and backed off, collecting his bag and heading to his room, shutting the door quietly.

     It was rare to see Kuroo so stressed out to the point he was yelling. He was good at dealing with people and made a great leader, one who was able to analyse strengths and weaknesses and make a team operate like a well-oiled machine. University liked to mess with all the variables, evidently.

     Luckily for Akaashi, his first assignment for the semester had already been completed and submitted. The one for his Music Theory class was due on the midnight of next Friday, so he had allowed himself this day off to go collect what he needed for his new piece. It was time to face the music, literally.

     He dug out his notebook from his bag, and dropped it lightly on the desk beside the keyboard standing against the wall. Riffling through the book, he pulled out some sheets of music paper, one three quarters filled.

     The laptop went on the desk too, slowly syncing up with the keyboard. While waiting, Akaashi opened up YouTube, picking through the statistics on his new videos. The latest one, despite being uploaded a month ago had garnered him 17 new subscribers. “Nice,” he said under his breath.

     The keyboard synced up and he opened his music program, replaying the track he had just added today with the help of Tsunemori Maki, a second year music student. Akaashi felt some of his stress melt away as he listened to Tsunemori’s haunting, wordless vocals, falling and rising in both volume and intensity. Her ethereal voice was perfect for the new piece he had in mind, and with the right harmonisations he could make them entirely otherworldly. Akaashi felt a little smile settle unbidden as he activated the main piano track he had saved, letting the sounds meld together.

     He stayed like that for a while, eyes closed as he mentally picked out individual chords and analysed which ones had to be adjusted. Time slipped away from him as he scribbled down some notes on his music sheet, changed tempos up, altered recordings, but he paid it no mind. It was much too easy to be swallowed by the worlds he was exploring through the compositions.

     He had just paused the song to write more notes down when a familiar “ _I’m home_!” echoed through the entire flat. God, it was sometimes way too loud in here. The sound probably reached right into their neighbours’ places. The old lady was likely half deaf because she had never complained, but Akaashi wondered how Tsukishima felt about it.

     Now that he thought about it, why was there an old lady in university student accommodation anyway?

     His contemplation was disturbed by Bokuto poking his head inside the room and saying something Akaashi couldn’t hear through his earphones. He took one bud out, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up, Bokuto-san?”

     “Just saying hi.” Bokuto’s eyes flicked around the room. “Composing something again?”

     “Yeah,” Akaasi said, lowering the lid of the laptop. “How’s Kuroo-san doing out there?”

     For a second Bokuto looked dejected. “He’s…that lousy group member is just riding on their grades. If only I could pummel him with a volleyball.”

     “Is Kuroo-san’s bedhead still flat?”

     “It’s…” Bokuto’s expression dipped further and then brightened so suddenly Akaashi was immediately on alert. Oh no, Oh God no, what had he done. “You’re a genius, Akaashi,” Bokuto breathed, then disappeared.

     For a second Akaashi sat on his bed just blinking dumbly at the door. Then, “ _Ugh._ ” He stuck his earphone back in and cranked the volume up.

     He should be glad that Bokuto was helping Kuroo out. He should be glad they were doing stuff they enjoyed. He should be glad—

     “ _Mhmm, right there Bokuto_ —“

     Alright, he wasn’t glad in the slightest.

     How their sex moans managed to get through his personal sound barrier, Akaashi didn’t know. It had been like this back at the old place too but that was a bigger flat, and they shared it with two other people, so Bokuro and Kuroo had felt the need to tone it down. Now since it was just Akaashi it appeared they were going all out. Childhood friends were supposed to be safe ground, right?

     “Shut up,” Akaashi muttered, clamping his pillow around his head.

     They didn’t shut up. Akaashi felt like dying, or at least gouging out his eardrums with a fork. But then he wouldn’t be able compose his music anymore, which was a convincing con over the variety of pros.

     He could just abandon the music making and get out of the flat; it wasn’t as if he had enough patience just then to ignore the two. Mind made up he started to climb off the bed and faltered when he heard glass shattering.

     Alright, no moving.

     Whatever. Maybe afterwards he could go get drunk just to erase the memory of the disturbing sounds from outside. But then look where _that_ had got him recently—climbing into somebody else’s apartment and stumbling all over the place like an idiot. He still had bruises on his shin from that damn kotatsu. It was lucky that Tsukishima didn’t totally hate his guts. Still, the Facebook conversation only carried Tsukishima’s biting retorts and none of those _looks_ he got when his patience had been tried to the last little drop and he started exercising a superiority complex.

     Thankfully Akaashi hadn’t bore the brunt of those looks the other night when he got the splinter out of Tsukishima’s palm, nor when he impulsively decided to scale some more walls—which, by the way, had been completely unprecedented. Akaashi wasn’t even the spontaneous type, but Tsukishima’s shocked expression afterward had amused him and that made it kind of worth it.

     Just as long as Tsukishima didn’t hate him.

     Akaashi had remembered his wary look when he had noticed the dinosaur plush, which had spurred him to Google some pointless dinosaur facts later that night. Now he knew dinosaurs could have possibly been covered in feathers, and the Tyrannosaurus Rex had foot-long teeth.

     Now effectively distracted from the music program open on his screen, Akaashi clicked away onto Facebook and found he had three new messages and had been tagged in eight separate posts. For someone trying to maintain a professional social media profile, Bokuto could get shockingly careless. Case in point: the _Dora the Explorer_ post he had tagged Akaashi in. Monkeys didn’t bend around like that. Western media was weird.    

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          I need to pay bills and I can’t do that if I’m fired

          Which reminds me, do you guys know anyone looking for a room

          My friend moved out and I need to split paying all this stuff with someone

 

Akaashi had gone offline after he sent his _wise decision_ response, since he had to finish the recording session before his and Tsunemori’s time in the booth was up. This message from Tsukishima had come around 1, which Akaashi would have at least seen on the way home had he not been dozing off on the bus. He absentmindedly tapped at the keyboard as he thought. _Do you guys know anyone looking for a room?_

     The people he still kept in touch with from Fukurodani’s volleyball team, like Konoha or Sarukui, were mostly scattered throughout different universities and as far as he knew, all had their own places. Akaashi was about to type, _No, sorry_ , when his laptop screen went black.

     “That’s just great,” he muttered, pulling his legs up and getting off the bed, catching his phone as it almost fell out of his pocket and shoving it back in. He removed his earphones gingerly and sighed in relief when he found there were no more obscene noises to be heard, just the shower going.

     He recovered the charger and plugged it in. A drink of water while he waited for the laptop to reboot sounded ideal, and it seemed safe enough to venture out.

     There was off-key humming coming from behind the shower door as he passed it, Kuroo’s humming. Well, he sounded a lot happier at least. Akaashi approached the hallway’s opening, catching sight of Bokuto’s fluffed up hair. And, as he emerged from the hallway, a weird black line down by his feet.

     “Akaashi, no!”

     “ _Ack_!” Akaashi’s foot caught on the tripwire (tripthread) and he toppled, arms flailing ungracefully. He was barely able to put his hands in front of him to brace his fall and let loose another disgusted _augh_ when his hands, forearms, face and his entire front, basically, came into contact with some horribly sticky and viscous liquid.

     “Shit.” Bokuto sounded very quiet and very far away.

     Akaashi raised his head very, very slowly, feeling honey drip down his hair and cheek. “What the fuck, Bokuto-san,” he said, his voice deathly calm.

     “It was meant for Kuroo.” Bokuto was looking anywhere but Akaashi, fiddling with his fingers. “Prank war, you know?” He quailed under Akaashi’s glare.

     He got to his feet without saying a word. _I know too well_.

     “Akaashi…” Bokuto trailed off uncertainly, watching him make his way toward the kitchen sink, leaving honey trails in his wake.

     “You are going to clean everything up,” Akaashi stated with his back turned, rinsing his hands under the faucet. He didn’t even want to know how much honey Bokuto had bought just for this one prank.

     “What’s going on?” Kuroo burst out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was flat and slicked down with water and Bokuto made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. “Akaashi yelled and Akaashi never yells.” He stepped forward, trying to get a better look into the kitchen.

     “Kuroo-san, don’t—”

     “ _Fuck_!”

     It was a horrendously glorious sight as Kuroo plummeted. Akaashi turned his back on them again and wiped his hands dry, plucking his mobile out of his pocket and opening a private chat with Tsukishima. He felt a strange sort of detachment as he typed. It seemed his anger at Bokuto had caused him to transcend in a half-delirious way.

 

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          You’re still looking for someone to share with right?

 

The seeds had been sown and it was time to see what fruit would be borne. Akaashi removed his honey soaked shirt in the same cold, methodical manner, balling it up in his fist. He barely paid attention to the commotion behind him. He knew if he allowed himself to take in the sight of Bokuto and a now-naked Kuroo having a honey-smearing fight he would have aneurysm.

     Instead, he stared at his phone, hoping that Tsukishima was able to get to his own mobile in whatever job he worked.

 

 _Seen: 4:28pm_.

_Tsukishima Kei is typing…_

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          Yeah, you know anybody?

 

The world might not hate him as much as he thought. Akaashi gripped the dirty t-shirt harder in his fist, and tapped at the keyboard with a thumb. While doing so, he turned around, walked straight between Kuroo and Bokuto, stomped right through the honey puddle, stepped neatly over the tripthread and straight into the bathroom, where he slammed the door.

 

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          Sure I do

          Me

 

* * *

 

“It’s in the interest of self-preservation,” was what Akaashi told Tsukishima.

     “…I understand that.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle, regarding Akaashi thoughtfully. Akaashi tried to pretend he didn’t care about the way Tsukishima’s dark golden-brown eyes scrutinised him, sizing him up.

     Instead he chose to stare right back at Tsukishima, narrowing his eyes very slightly. The stare-off held for five uncomfortable seconds before Tsukishima cleared his throat and shifted in his seat on the low couch, readjusting his grip on his mug of tea.

     Oh. Maybe he shouldn’t be staring down someone he was asking a favour from.

     It was the third time Akaashi was in Tsukishima’s place, and third time appeared to be the charm. Instead of cracking his shin bones on inconveniently placed household objects or picking splinters out of slightly clammy palms, he was sitting in _seiza_ at the kotatsu, green tea steaming gently before him, at the perfect temperature for lengthy sips.

     Tsukishima’s apartment was shockingly bare for someone who had lived there since the beginning of semester. The walls here were devoid of decoration, unlike next door were posters had been plastered up absolutely _everywhere_ , and everything was very…neat. Too neat. If it wasn’t for the video games stacked next to the TV and that dinosaur sitting lopsided in the corner, Akaashi would be under the impression that the place hadn’t been touched since it was made. He brought the mug of tea to his lips, deeply inhaling the aroma. Green tea was his favourite.

     “Are you serious about moving? Are those two okay with it?” Tsukishima tried to drink some of his tea and swore under his breath when it fogged up his glasses.

     Akaashi bit back a sudden laugh that surprised him. “I am serious.”

     “You’ll still be able to hear them,” Tsukishima said dubiously. “The walls aren’t even that thin but I’ve had to take my things out here a few times just so I can sleep at night.”

     “Better here than there,” Akaashi admitted. He was fond of his friends, but fondness had its limits.

     “I guess…”

     “You’re probably hesitant about accepting me,” he said. “It’s a given, based on how we met.”

      Tsukishima lifted his left shoulder in a shrug. “I told you the other night my opinion of you had improved, didn’t I?”

     It was a blunt, almost rude way of going about saying he had forgiven Akaashi, but, “Yes, you did, and I’m thankful for that.”

     “You’re using me as a way out,” Tsukishima said, as if more to himself than Akaashi, with a faint smirk.

     “Not as a way out,” Akaashi said defensively. “If anything, you need my help or you’ll be kicked out of here for not paying accommodation fees.”

     Tsukishima laughed dryly. “Come on, you couldn’t be doing this out of the goodness of your heart, could you?”

     “ _Fine_ ,” Akaashi admitted, “you go try living with them for at least a day and you’ll see why I need some distance. They could do with some distance from me, too, they’re still restraining themselves a _little_ , for my sake.”

     “That’s restraint?” Tsukishima leant back in the couch.

     “Believe it or not.”

     Tsukishima was silent for a bit. Akaashi could practically see the gears turning in his head, and waited patiently.

     “I’ll accept, Akaashi-san.”

     A sliver of relief passed through Akaashi. He set the tea down, saying, “When is a good time for me to move my things?”

     “Tomorrow afternoon, but,” Tsukishima set his tea down too, placing his hands on his knees, “on one condition—you’ll have to take my old room. I’m moving my things across to the empty room there.” He waved his hand at a closed door on the other end of the room.

     “Agreed.”

     A small smile touched the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth. “How do you think they’ll react?”

     “I wonder.” Akaashi rested his elbows on the table, weighing the possible outcomes. “If I went in and announced the move now, Kuroo-san would…go into shock, Bokuto-san would start crying. It’s just how he is,” he added, to Tsukishima’s quizzical look. “If I tell them the reason straight up, they’d start sulking. Plus it would make me feel bad. If I break it to them gently while they’re in the middle of playing Mario Kart hopefully they’d be too distracted…and if I just quietly take my things out of the flat and into here they’d assume we were attempting to be discreet about a relationship.”

     The tips of Tsukishima’s ears turned faintly red. “You really take everything into account, don’t you,” he said, clasping his hands together.

     “Usually.” Akaashi’s eyes were drawn straight to the movement and he found himself staring at Tsukishima’s long, unusually elegant fingers. They were pale and thin, folded together with a casual grace. Just the other night those fingers had been nestled in Akaashi’s palm.

     Breathing suddenly became a little difficult.

     “It’s not—”

     “Can I—”

     They both stopped at the same time. Akaashi felt himself flush a little.

     “What were you going to say?” Tsukishima asked.

     “Can I use your bathroom?”

     “Oh—sure, yeah.” He waved his hand vaguely at the little hall—not that he really needed to, since Akaashi recognised the apartment’s layout as imitating his own.

     He took the last swallow of tea and stood, his legs cramping a bit as they stretched out from _seiza_. “What were you going to say?” he asked Tsukishima.

     Tsukishima looked aside. “It doesn’t matter.”

     _Alright then_. Akaashi left him sitting there and brooding, focused on finding the safe haven of the bathroom so he could pull himself together.

     Truth be told, he wasn’t really sure on how best to break the issue to Bokuto and Kuroo. He hadn’t been lying when he told Tsukishima they’d sulk, yet, he thought as he splashed cold water on his face, they could sway to being perversely happy for him—Bokuto, anyway. He’d jump to the conclusion Akaashi and Tsukishima were involved, and that would the most difficult to deal with, to say in the least.

     That ruled out moving quietly—Option C—then. Akaashi dried his face on the handtowel, hoping Tsukishima wouldn’t notice that. Option A was to get right to it, like ripping off a bandaid, B was to offhandedly mention it while the two were distracted.

     Out of all of them, the aftermath of B sounded the easiest to deal with. There were other variables to take into account too, such as their moods and the fact they would react differently—they weren’t the same person, after all—but Akaashi felt he had the general idea of it down.

     For some inane reason, he thought of Tsukishima’s hands again.

     _What the hell_. He shook the mental images out of his head and squeezed the rim of the sink, staring down at its pristine white surface.

     _This isn’t like me_.

     The thought came to him loud and clear as day. The decision to jump apartments to Tsukishima’s bordered on impulsive, and Akaashi wasn’t an impulsive person. He liked to analyse situations and judge the most favourable results—an ability he was sadly lacking in when inebriated.

     In this occasion he had jumped in and was only _now_ considering the consequences and how to deal with them. Beforehand when he had sent that message to Tsukishima he had barely stopped to think about anything other than _getting somewhere safe_. Safe didn’t even mean in this case that he was in legitimate danger, rather, it meant a place existed where he wouldn’t walk into pranks every second day, wouldn’t have to mediate boisterous video game sessions, wouldn’t be kept awake at night by invasively loud fornication.

     Safe meant at ease. Safe meant quiet.

     And so his mind had jumped to Tsukishima.

     Apparently he hadn’t taken into account that safe also meant prickly, Akaashi thought sardonically, shaking off the last drops of water on his hands and leaving the bathroom.

     Tsukishima was on his phone when Akaashi returned, tapping away rhythmically. The soft strains of music peppered with clinks suggested Bejewelled. Akaashi surveyed the apartment again, and his gaze fell back on the dinosaur. He remembered how wary Tsukishima had looked when he had first inquired about the plush, and a gem from his internet browsing leapt to his lips. “I heard dinosaurs lived on Antarctica,” he said, just to judge Tsukishima’s reaction.

     Tsukishima started a little. “Everyone knows that,” he said, his expression guarded.

     “I wonder what they looked like,” Akaashi said, watching carefully.

     “Well, it was reported that the _Cryolophosaurus_ —no, never mind.”

     Tsukishima had tensed up and so Akaashi decided to drop the issue. “I think I’d better leave now—and through the normal way this time.” He cast a lingering, sideward glance at the window, keeping an eye out for Tsukishima’s inevitable scowl.

     Sure enough, there it was. Akaashi held back a smirk.

     “The normal way sounds perfect,” Tsukishima said bitingly.

     “Wish me luck.” Akaashi started toward the door.

     “Hold on.” Tsukishima went to the small fridge, rummaging around inside and pulling out a small container. He thrust it toward Akaashi. “Give this to them.”

     Akaashi took the box in confusion, peeling back the lid to see three cake slices inside. “What’s this for?”

     “Sweets help break news easier.” Tsukishima had a tiny frown creasing between his eyebrows. “My boss is always telling us that.”

     “Ah.” Akaashi’s mouth felt a little dry. “Thank you, Tsukishima-san.”

     The frown deepened a little. “It’s fine.”

     If it was fine, why did he look put off? Akaashi felt a little puzzled by it all, but brushed it off. “I’ll see myself out,” he said.

     Despite his saying that, Tsukishima still followed him to the front and opened the door while he slipped his shoes on. “Goodnight, Akaashi-san.”

     Akaashi inclined his head in a polite bow. “Goodnight.”

     Alone in the hall, he found himself nibbling on the edge of his fingernail as he walked back to 268, and hastily took it out of his mouth. That was a thoughtless habit he needed to break, but it really only came about when he was worried about something.

     “Akaashi’s back,” Bokuto hollered from the living room, followed by a hacking sound like he had cut himself off abruptly.

     “I’m back,” Akaashi said under his breath, taking off his shoes and putting them neatly in the corner. Option B, he reminded himself firmly, then remembered he was still supposed to be mad at them for the honey prank.

     To his relief, the floors were spotless when he walked further in. It looked like Bokuto really had listened to him. Akaashi said a silent thank you to whoever might be out there.

     “Hey, Akaashi…” Bokuto twisted around from where he was sitting on the couch with Kuroo, the paused screen of Super Smash Bros illuminating the room. “You…aren’t still mad, right?”

     “You tell me, Bokuto-san.”

     Kuroo had hunched down as Bokuto talked, as if trying to hide himself, but his hair stuck a good few inches above the couch back. He wasn’t saying anything and Akaashi pictured him to be staring fixedly at the TV, his mouth clamped shut.

     “I’m—we’re—really sorry about that prank you walked into…it wasn’t meant for you, I swear!”

     _Believe me, I know_. Akaashi sighed inwardly and at the same time let his resentment go, but the anxiousness on Bokuto’s face made him want to mess with them a little. Before he broke out Option B, at least.

   “Tell me, why don’t you tell me…” Kuroo sang under his breath. Bokuto punched him lightly on the shoulder.

   The best response was silence. Akaashi returned Bokuto’s pleading look with a measured stare, waiting for him to figure out the best apology on his own. Eventually, Bokuto bowed his head in defeat. “Week-long abstinence from pranks,” he muttered glumly. “And I’ll buy you _n_ _anohana no karashiae_.”

     Good, but not quite there. Akaashi waited expectantly, trying not to snicker as Bokuto pushed his hair back in frustration.    

     Kuroo let out a heavy, woeful sigh and shoved himself up, flinging an arm over the back of the couch and cocking his head at Akaashi. “At least ten kill blocks this Sunday and not let Bokuto start sulking?” he offered.

     “Mm.” Akaashi nodded. “Agreed.”

     “Why does this always make me feel like I’m bargaining with _yakuza_?” Bokuto muttered.

     “Anyway, where were you all that time?” Kuroo asked, unpausing Super Smash. Bokuto squawked and scrabbled for the controller, dropping it on the ground instead.

     Akaashi started to answer with a lie and finish with the truth, so all that came out of his mouth was the convoluted grunt of, “Convenshimawhere.”

     _“Hah_?”

     “You shit!” Bokuto yelled as Kuroo’s Samus KO’d Kirby into the sunset of the Guar Plains.

     “Pay attention, babe.” Kuroo ruffled Bokuto’s hair with enough force to make it stand up in all ways instead of just two, breaking the laws of physics and hair gel. “What the hell did you say, Akaashi?”

     He clung to the last convoluted word he had spat out. “Nowhere.”

     “Liar,” Bokuto shot back. He paused the game once more and snatched away Kuroo’s controller, holding it out of his reach so he could twist around and fix a sharp, discerning eye on Akaashi. “I heard a _shima_.”

     No, you didn’t, Akaashi started to say on reflex, but stopped himself in time. This was the opportunity to break out Option B. “I don’t know,” he said instead, circling the couch and setting the container of cake down.

     “Food!” Kuroo perked up and peeled back the lid, only offering a slice to Bokuto after he grudgingly handed back the Wii U remote.

     Bokuto’s eyes were practically glowing, and not just because of the effect of sugar (give him red cordial and you had a demon from the seventh circle of hell, no blood sacrifice summoning required). “Does nowhere give free cake?”

     “…No, but apparently Tsukishima-san does.”

     “ _That’s_ where you were?”

     “It’s so I can ‘break the news’ to you.” There was probably a better way to go about this. Who said he was good with words?

     “Huh?"

     Akaashi looked at both of them, chomping down happily on the cake. Bokuto already had a bit of chocolate smeared on his nose. Now was a good as time as any.

     “I’m going to be moving in with Tsukishima.”

     Bokuto choked, spewing crumbs all over Akaashi’s face.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quick summary of a few changes made to previous chapters:**
> 
> > Akaashi is now studying Music, his unit before was changed from Mathematics to Music Theory. Why? Because I say so lol this is a self-indulgent fic you cannot stop me.  
> > his focus is on classical piano music but he’s created his own tracks before mixing in other instrumentals.  
> > the grandfather clock in Tsukishima’s room as mentioned in the first chapter has been changed to a regular clock on the wall because the existence of the grandfather clock pissed me off.
> 
> ok sorry this chapter is so short I had such a hard time writing it. fucko. also sorry for any potential ooc-ness I'm constantly anxious over that ugh

 

 

“Tell your boss that sweets don’t work.”

     “Did one of them choke and die?” Tsukishima sounded faintly hopeful.

     Akaashi wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused. “No, they lived,” he said. “It was close though.”

     “In what ways did the cake not work then?”

     Akaashi propped his foot up against the wall outside their apartments to finish tying the laces on his running shoe. “We’re eloping to Greece next month.”

     “I…what?”

     “It means the cake didn’t placate them.”

     Tsukishima wrinkled his nose. “Eloping. Lovely.”

     At least he wasn’t looking green or miming throwing up. Akaashi wasn’t sure how he’d react if Tsukishima started regarding him with legitimate disgust.

     “That’s why,” he let his foot fall to the ground and stretched out his leg, “you should get going before they wake up.”

     “But it’s seven in the morning, I can’t picture either of them up that early.”

     “Kuroo’s a snorer and it gets Bokuto up. Once Bokuto got so sick of it he shaved little soap flakes into Kuroo’s mouth…”

     “What did that even _do_ to him?”

     “He started exhaling a bubble bath.” Akaashi found he was distantly staring over Tsukishima’s shoulder down the hall. Tsukishima’s eyebrows were doing that horrified twitch again. “Anyway. Who gets up this early for university?”

     “I just like the class,” he said offhandedly.

     “What do you study?”

     “Photography.” Tsukishima’s voice had a weird inflection to it and he was pressing the tips of his fingers together as they walked down the stairs. “So, running?” he asked, changing the subject.

     “Just exercise,” Akaashi said, shrugging half-heartedly. “I’m part of the volleyball team at university, so I need to stay fit.”

     “I played volleyball in high school,” Tsukishima said, all in a rush. “Uh, what position are you?”

     “Setter,” Akaashi said, and Tsukishima snorted a little. “What?”

     “Nothing, it’s just that you’re a lot different from our old setter. He’s an idiot,” Tsukishima confided, but it didn’t sound very scornful.

     “I played setter in high school, too. I guess it was the easiest position to pick up again here, and our group is small, so I didn’t have to compete with anyone. Most of them want to spike.”

     “Heh, that brings back memories. Are any of them the size of a shrimp?”

     “Shrimp?” Something about that felt familiar. “Wait, you weren’t with Karasuno, were you?”

     Tsukishima paused, his hand on the end of the railing. “How did you know?”

     “The Small Giant that everyone called Shrimpy. He was Karasuno’s Ten, wasn’t he?”

     “That’s right.” Tsukishima blinked at him in a manner some might have called puzzled, but Akaashi felt himself being measured up again. “What school were you with?”

     “Fukurodani.”

     “We almost versed you two years ago in the finals.” Tsukishima adjusted his book bag, thinking, as they walked out the glass doors into the cool morning air. “You lost to Azabu High.”

     Akaashi twitched. It wasn’t something that he liked to be reminded of so bluntly. “It was partly because we didn’t have Bokuto-san with us anymore, but don’t tell him that.”

     “Don’t worry.”

     “What position were you?” Either a blocker or a spiker, judging by his height. Those hands would also fit around the curve of a ball well, stopping it in its tracks.

     “Middle blocker.”

     Now, looking at Tsukishima and knowing what school and team he had belonged to, Akaashi felt the trickles of a distant memory returning. “Weren’t you that one who made that match…the one with Ushijima…you were a key player in that?”

    “I wouldn’t call it that, I never stopped any of his blocks completely.” Tsukishima fiddled with the wire of the headphones resting around his neck. “And that match was like, three years ago. You were in a different prefecture too; how do you even remember that?”

     “Good memory,” Akaashi said, shrugging it off. He himself wasn’t even sure how he had even retained that detail. But whatever.

     “My bus comes in ten minutes, I’m going to get going.” Tsukishima poked his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and half-nodded at him.

     “See you later.”                                                               

     Akaashi began stretching out his legs, glancing at Tsukishima’s retreating form every now and then. He had already pulled his headphones up over his ears. Akaashi wondered what kind of music he listened to—would it be rock music? Or maybe Jpop, or even those weird Western bands. Bokuto and Kuroo were big fans of Celine Dion, or at least that’s what Akaashi assumed after their trips to karaoke.

     He rolled his neck, getting out the kinks that came with sleep. He had walked his route the day they had moved in and now he felt he knew where he was going to go without getting lost.

     His feet made _whuck whuck_ sounds against the concrete as he began running, his pulse quickly picking up into a fast and steady beat. There was a warm touch on the cool morning that was spreading through the air alongside the sunlight, lengthening shadows in a slow, invigorating manner. Soon the sun would rise higher and the shadows quickly shorten, calling the world to wake up and get moving.

     The track led him through a small nature reserve that had a small, faded red _torii_ acting as an entryway arch. Light filtered down, dappling the dirt underfoot. Sweat began to bead at his temples, his breath growing shorter.

     In distracting itself from the monotony of his run, his mind turned to Tsukishima. Akaashi had never had another roommate apart from people he had known from high school, and he hoped Tsukishima didn’t have any weird habits or quirks, or at least any habits or quirks that impeded Akaashi’s ability to walk across a room without getting attacked by a badly aimed throw pillow.

    That would be unlikely, he tried to convince himself. It was simple to tell that Tsukishima was a quiet person, who could get irritated fairly easily and had some trouble keeping himself impassive. Partly responsible for this, as Akaashi had witnessed, was when something out of Tsukishima’s control marched its way into his life and shattered his comfort zone.

     People like Bokuto and Kuroo, obviously, but also someone like Akaashi himself. Yet who wouldn’t _not_ stay impassive when a drunk came crashing into their home, through the window no less? He was just grateful Tsukishima hadn’t gored him with that umbrella.

     Akaashi had a disturbing hunch that the amount of times he’d fucked up with Tsukishima was going to rise from being able to be counted on one hand to two, and then some feet would have to be thrown in—except that made him sound like an unhinged psychopath.

     What was going through Tsukishima’s mind those times he studied Akaashi; when he sent him off to find Bokuto that first night, when he talked with him about the move-in, and just before when they parted ways in front of their building? One of the skills Akaashi had developed during his times as a setter during school and university was his ability to read people’s body language and habits, but of course that didn’t let him read thoughts. And Tsukishima’s body language suggested any number of things: scepticism, disgust, wariness, superiority…the list went on. It could be any of those, or all of them, or none.

     Akaashi resisted the urge to stop running and bang his head against a tree. He wasn’t going to stoop to that level of depicting his frustration in such a careless manner.

     Bokuto was up and banging around the kitchen when Akaashi got back. Almost without thinking about it, Akaashi threw him a greeting and went to unlatch the window, letting the tendrils of smoke snake out before they could set off the fire alarm.

     “Thanks,” Bokuto said, not even turning around. It was a strange sort of rhythm.

     “I’ll pick up some fresh eggs later,” Akaashi said, resting his elbows on the windowsill and his chin on his palm. The soft breeze flicked at the towel hanging around his neck, tickling his skin.

      He heard Bokuto’s movements still behind him. “Aren’t you going to—isn’t this the day you were going to—”

     “Move?”

     Something _whooshed_ through the air and Akaashi pictured Bokuto pointing the spatula at him threateningly, hand on his hip, clad in nothing but boxes and his faded pink owl-print apron. It didn’t make for an imposing image.

     “ _Abandon_ us,” Bokuto corrected. “For your secret lover.”

     Akaashi fixed him with an _I’m-fucking-done-with-your-shit_ expression, which his facial features slid into with worrying ease. “We’re not lovers. And I’m going _next door_.”

     “ _Far across the distance…_ ” Bokuto started singing, barely able to manage the English. To the untrained ear it would sound like a garbled yowling. “ _The spaces….between us…_ ”

     “Stop it.” Akaashi grimaced, glaring at him. “It’s a win-win situation, though, isn’t it? We all get more space, Tsukishima gets help with the fees he has to pay and won’t be kicked out.”

     “Let the baby owlet stretch his wings,” Kuroo chided as he walked in, stifling a yawn. His hair was sticking up more than ever.

     Akaashi wrinkled his nose. “Don’t call me an owlet.”

     “All of Fukurodani and its graduates are owlets.” Kuroo smirked. “Widdle babies.”

     “Shut up, because,” Bokuto ditched a burnt fried egg at Kuroo’s head, “breakfast is _served_!”

     Kuroo plucked the egg off his cheek and chomped it. “Are eggs supposed to be crunchy?”

      “There might be fingernails in there,” Akaashi warned. “Which you’d deserve.” He dodged the half of the egg Kuroo sent his way. “I’m going to shower.”

     “Bad receive!” Kuroo hollered after him.

    

* * *

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          I’ll be back in about twenty

          Is your stuff ready?

 

Akaashi gazed around his now-bare room, his belongings packed in the boxes they had come in. There wasn’t a great deal of stuff, and he could carry out some by hand anyway to avoid the hassle of packing it. He wondered what Bokuto’s reaction would be if he recorded a piano version of _My Heart Will Go On_ and left it playing as he went in and out, transferring his things.

 

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          As ready as they’ll ever be

          btw I read someone’s trying to combine a chicken and dinosaur

 

He had also found out there was a dinosaur that could create sonic booms with its tail, 4 in 10 Americans thought dinosaurs and humans had co-existed, and a raptor skull had been discovered in Cambodia all because of a little kid who somehow got it stuck on his own head and ran around in it. Akaashi pictured Kuroo doing that and snickered.

     Tsukishima had seen his message but hadn’t replied. Akaashi rested his cheek in his hand, flipping his phone around in hand.

     This was one way to right his wrongs—learn Tsukishima’s interests and express curiosity in them. Step 1 of social interaction. Or so Bokuto had said in high school, but it had worked to an adequate extent, when Akaashi could be bothered following those tips. After all, trusting Bokuto was always a gamble.

    He still wasn’t completely sure if Tsukishima even liked dinosaurs and fossils and so on, as interesting as Akaashi was finding it to be, since his assumption was based off a single giant plushie.

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          Weird isn’t it

 

**Akaashi Keiji:**

          very weird but still cool

 

Tsukishima had always gotten edgy when the dinosaur subject popped up too, so Akaashi figured he needed reassurance. Step 2, as Bokuto had said, was reassurance about any negative self-perceptions the person may harbour, although Akaashi had had to run that one through his internal Bokuto-translator. _If they’re really self-conscious, just kick that in the ass! In a nice way, like woo-ah!_

 

**Tsukishima Kei:**

          I think so too

 

Akaashi read the message and, not sure how to reply, let the phone slip through his fingers and plop onto the neatly made bed. An idle piano tune had been playing in his head throughout his packing, his brain subconsciously composing without his say-so. It would be good to write it down before he forgot.

     Chewing the end of his pencil, he wandered into the living room for better light, sitting on the couch across from Kuroo, who was busy tapping away on his laptop with his earphones stuck in. Akaashi sounded out the notes in his head, humming almost indiscernibly under his breath, and scribbled in a few quavers.

     So caught up he was, he didn’t notice Bokuto behind him until his friend was breathing right into his ear. “Tsukishima’s here,” he hissed, making Akaashi jump and drop his pencil.

     Bokuto didn’t say anything to that, but his eyebrows were doing contortions almost off his face. Tsukishima stepped out from behind him.

     “You didn’t answer your phone, so I knocked,” Tsukishima said to Akaashi by way of greeting.

     He didn’t sound particularly apologetic, so Akaashi didn’t bother trying to sound sorry when he said, “Sorry.”

     Tsukishima hesitated a bit. “Do you need help with your things?”

     Less for him to carry, always a plus. “Sure, follow me.”

     “No greeting for me, Tsukki?” Kuroo called after them. Akaashi turned around in time to see Tsukishima flip Kuroo off without looking back.

     Akaashi snorted unintentionally. This guy was golden.

     “I still haven’t fully forgiven him for trying to body tackle me,” Tsukishima confessed.

     “Sorry we’re causing you trouble,” Akaashi said, meaning it. “And I’m being selfish too, so sorry for that, too.”

     “Nah, I would’ve done the same if I had to room with Kageyama and Hinata,” Tsukishima said, curling his fingers into the handles of a box and hefting it up.

     “I wouldn’t have pegged Kageyama as the same personality type, he was always pissed off when I saw him.”

     “Trust me, he looked worse when he was trying to smile. And Kageyama is just…aggravating. Especially paired with Hinata.”

     “I’ll take your word for it.” Akaashi lifted his own box. “Lead the way.”

     True to what they had discussed before, Akaashi was getting Tsukishima’s old room. It still had some things laying around, like the worn volleyball jersey slung over the back of the desk chair, a couple of medical textbooks—but didn’t he study photography?—and a tattered One Ok Rock poster.

     And it still smelt like him. A faint vanilla scent that could have come from bodywash or lotion. It permeated the air with a warm sweetness.

     Akaashi felt his body heat up with embarrassment as soon as he realised. _No_ , he told himself firmly, those kind of thoughts weren’t needed. He wasn’t going to take advantage of Tsukishima’s hospitality like that.

     Even as his self-reprimands ran through his head he still inhaled long and deep, realised Tsukishima was still in the room with him, and made a quick recovery by dumping his armful of things and passing off the breath as a result of exertion.

     “Come on, there’s still more stuff,” he said quickly, heading out first so Tsukishima couldn’t see his flushed face. _Get yourself under control._

     It took over an hour to get everything in, the time made longer by their break to have the standard gourmet dinner of cup ramen. It would have taken less had it not been for Kuroo and Bokuto’s improvised handtowel-flicking tribal dance, which made walking through the living room a hazard, and Bokuto imitating Super Smash Bros’ Shulk and yelling “Backslash!”, jabbing his hand into the small of Tsukishima’s back. Later Tsukishima said he would have filed for assault had it not actually gotten rid of his back pain.

     “What are you, an old man?” Akaashi snickered.

     “Hey, I didn’t know getting attacked by a physiotherapist would be a good thing.”

     “Sure, grandpa.”

     The last thing to be moved was the keyboard. Akaashi tucked it under his arm and picked up the stand with his free hand, manoeuvring out the doors Tsukishima held open for him.

     “I didn’t know you played the piano,” Tsukishima said, following him out.

     Akaashi felt the keyboard slipping and hefted it back up. “How could you have known? It never came up in conversation.”

     “True enough.”

     “Nine years,” he said.

     “Nine years what?”

     “That’s how long I’ve been playing,” Akaashi said, standing aside and letting Tsukishima open his door for him. “And I’m studying Music in university.”

     “What kind of stuff even happens in that course?”

     “Things like music theory, history, Japanese and international composers, and so on. There’s also a big focus on making your own things.”

     Tsukishima looked at him curiously. “Don’t you get people asking why you don’t spend your money on a more worthwhile degree?”

     Akaashi shrugged. “Sometimes.” But he was already pretty set on making his own music, so he mostly ignored the jabs.

     “It doesn’t bother you?”

     “Not especially,” Akaashi said slowly. “You’ve had the same problem, haven’t you.”

     “Mm.” And that clammed Tsukishima right up.

     Akaashi placed down the stand and keyboard in his new room, dusting off his hands. Everything was just right, except for— “Have you always had that weird tapping noise in here?”

     Tsukishima stopped from where he had been making an exit. “Tapping?”

     “Yeah, listen for a sec…” Three taps with long pauses in between, and then three short taps, and then three long ones. “Oh. Don’t worry.”

     “I could always call the police,” Tsukishima said offhandedly. “An S.O.S. being sounded in Morse Code is a valid excuse; I’m sure Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san wouldn’t mind.”

     Akaashi waved the suggestion away, laughing a little despite himself. “They’ll get tired of doing it eventually.”

     “Thanks for taking one for the team, Akaashi-san.” With that, Tsukishima left the room.

     The tapping continued doggedly. Akaashi rolled his eyes and pulled out the music sheets he had been writing on before the move, and plugged his earphones into the keyboard. Unpacking and sorting everything out could wait until later—right now, there was music bouncing around in his head he needed to get out.

 

* * *

 

Akaashi was a morning person. _Generally_. His early-riser attitude, however, didn’t always coalesce with sunrise, especially when he had fallen asleep only two hours before.

     “Why is it so _bright_ in here,” he muttered to himself, his head aching with lack of sleep. Everything was white-hot and bright and he was sticky with sweat, being buried under layers of blankets. His thoughts wouldn’t come together; as he fought off the threatening sheets and rolled off the bed, tripping over empty boxes and stubbing his toe on the corner of the desk.

     “ _Ah_!”

     The resulting pain only helped confuse him further. He couldn’t even remember why he was so goddamn tired in the first place. Barely noticing that his room smelt different than usual, he glared briefly at the small, uncovered window that was letting all the cursed light in, before stumbling out into the hallway.

     A shower. That was what he needed right then, a rinse to clear his head at least. He couldn’t attempt going back to sleep, that rarely worked out anyway. Something about his internal clock. Mumbling profanities under his breath, he reached down to the hem of his shirt and yanked it off over his head, dully hoping that Bokuto hadn’t taken it into his head to have a six o’clock shower.

     He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, having slung the shirt across his shoulder. His vision kept going in and out of focus and he twisted the doorknob to the bathroom, padding inside quietly, hoping that the water would calm him.

     “Who—”

     Akaashi was already in the motion of both yanking back the shower curtain and tugging his boxers down with his free hand. But. There was already someone inside.

     Already someone inside.

     Already. Someone.

     “What the _fuck_?” Tsukishima yelled.

     “Shit!” Akaashi backed up, almost falling over himself. “I—I didn’t—”

     “Have you ever heard of _knocking_?!”

     “Uh…” Akaashi blinked, his befuddled brain trying its best to catch up with the situation. This process was made all the more difficult the more he ogled Tsukishima, taking in the sheen of water over his pale skin, the way his hair was slicked down on his forehead, and how the lack of glasses made the furious light in his eyes all the more prominent. And also he was clamping a sponge over the space between his legs.

     Tsukishima. Naked. In the shower. In _his own_ shower.

_Oh, fuck, that’s right._

     “Get out already!”

     Something made contact with Akaashi’s skull and he yelped. The half empty shampoo bottle clattered to the tiles, oozing out white liquid.

     “Move it!” That was a soap bar and it left a slimy splat right in the middle of his chest.

     Finally, Akaashi came to the full of his senses. “Please forgive me,” he said to a scarlet-faced Tsukishima in a gasping rush, hustling out and slamming the door behind him in his panic.

     Shit, shit, shit, he _had_ to go and mess this up. Screw all that unpacking that had kept him up last night, he’d be throwing everything right back in those boxes and moving back in with Bokuto and Kuroo. Maybe Tsukishima would even get them all evicted half way across Tokyo. So much for _not taking advantage of Tsukishima’s hospitality_ , he had definitely been looking his roommate up and down.

     And _that_ brought a whole new set of worries—he didn’t even know if Tsukishima liked men. What if he was homophobic? But then, he hadn’t reacted much to the fact Bokuto and Kuroo were together, but still, _still_. Akaashi was the intruder, the pervert, and he just kept messing up and he knew he had struck out completely.

     The worst thing was that he didn’t even know how to make this up to Tsukishima. How did you apologise to someone you barged in on when they were naked? A sincere “sorry” like last time wasn’t going to make the cut and Akaashi hated himself vehemently for ruining the tentative friendship they had begun to build.

     “Dammit,” he mumbled, burying his face in his hands and slumping against the wall of his room. “ _Dammit_.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello one, hello all, how the fuck did this get past 200 kudos?
> 
> So I've heard my lovely friend [ Smokey310 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokey310/pseuds/Smokey310)actually gave my fic a shoutout in one of the chapters of Daredevil! Which explained the sudden and frightening influx of readers to my little old fic. Thank you so, so much! It terrified me and I don't deserve you.
> 
> snapshot of my life: I woke up yesterday morning and half asleep I composed their first kiss scene in my head. spoilers it's not this chapter lol
> 
> come yell at me @[rincentric](http://www.rincentric.tumblr.com)

 

 

Tsukishima remained in uncomfortable silence throughout the whole of his shower and as he towelled off. The events of what happened no less than ten minutes ago kept running through his head like a broken movie reel, always stuttering to a halt on how Akaashi’s tired eyes had flitted about Tsukishima’s body until he had snapped out of it.

     Tsukishima felt humiliation curl in the pit of his stomach. How…it was so _fucking embarrassing_. To be barged in on while he was unawares and naked made him want to dig his fingernails into the sides of his arms so the pain could distract him. It wasn’t as though he was incredibly self-conscious—he’d had his shirt off quite a few times while playing sports or hanging out with his friends at home, when it was a hot day. Kageyama had even once lent over the bathroom stall while Tsukishima was unzipping his pants because for some _inane reason_ , he thought Tsukishima was going through his wallet for _weed_. No, it was more the fact Tsukishima had had no control over the situation at all, until he started throwing things.

     He clenched the edge of the bathroom sink, breathing in deeply, waiting for the surge of embarrassment to fade. Getting angry at Akaashi in his head also helped to numb it somewhat, but he also kept on remembering Akaashi’s panicked, stuttered apology, and the dark shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t looked like he had slept very well.

     It sort of reminded Tsukishima of how he’d been the first night after Yamaguchi had left. Sleeping with the knowledge he’d been the only one in the place had been a bit unsettling and he had kept waking up to random bumps and creaks in the night. Maybe Akaashi just wasn’t used to the environment—although that was a stretch, Tsukishima assumed anyone who had spent time overnight with Bokuto and Kuroo would forever after always be able to sleep like a rock anywhere else.

     “Akaashi-san,” he said under his breath, sounding out the name. How was he going to go about this? Confrontation was always such a bother. He preferred to throw out some scathing words and laugh down at his opponent, and leave them there stewing in frustration.

     This was such a different case, though. He didn’t want to be petty and had no energy to be snarky toward Akaashi of all people, who didn’t have the kind of personality that would explode as soon as Tsukishima laid down a few choice insults. Confrontation…that was unwanted right now. Demanding another apology? Just _embarrassing_.

_Pretend it never happened._

     Avoidance was the least stressful tactic, Tsukishima concluded. If they were living together tension would be a pain. So, put it behind him.

     Easier said than done, he found, as he unintentionally thought again of how Akaashi’s eyes had widened and faint red had bloomed across his cheeks. Not to mention he hadn’t had a shirt on and his boxers had been in the process of being tugged down. Tsukishima chewed on his lower lip. Akaashi obviously did more exercise than just morning runs.

     “What the fuck,” he muttered angrily. Then the only reason Akaashi had stared like he did was because he was either too tired to realise what he was doing, or surprised at how scrawny Tsukishima was in comparison, or both.

     Tsukishima hoped it was the former. No sooner than he figured that, he wanted to kick himself. It wasn’t like Akaashi was gay and cared, thus the latter shouldn’t even be considered. Yet he kept considering it.

     “Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, tugging on his clothes and slinging the towel over the top of his head. He just wanted to eat his nutritious breakfast of cup noodles and leave already. And when he came back home, the morning would be forgotten and hopefully Akaashi would have had an afternoon nap or something.

     His stomach grumbled when he opened the door, the smell of something freshly cooked wafting through. He frowned, perking up despite his confusion, and walking out revealed the source came from a fluffy omelette sitting on toast, waiting on the kitchen counter.

     “Tsukishima-san.” Oh, there was an Akaashi standing next to the food too. His hands were clenching and unclenching and without warning he bowed at the waist, looking straight at the ground. “Please forgive me for my behaviour earlier. I was tired and unaware the shower was occupied. I promise I wasn’t trying to take advantage of our situation.”

     Take advantage of their situation? Tsukishima’s mind flew to several different places at once and he distracted himself by reaching for the toast and taking a bite, chewing very slowly. At least Akaashi had put a shirt on. That helped clear Tsukishima’s head.

     He swallowed. “It never happened, alright?”

     Akaashi straightened slowly, relief all over his face. “Okay. Uh, I’m going to take a shower now.”

     Tsukishima couldn’t resist. “Aren’t you worried I’ll kick down the door?”

     “That is _not_ what happened,” Akaashi said guardedly.

     “Then what happened?”

     “…Nothing is what happened.”

     “Great.” Tsukishima leant on the counter and finished off the first half of the toast. He was surprisingly good at acting, he felt. Speaking as though he was keeping his cool when inside he was all jittery.

     Akaashi made a good omelette, although there was precious little in Tsukishima’s small fridge—their small fridge—to make a passable breakfast. Tsukishima ate slowly, thinking to the day ahead of him. It wasn’t as though he had many classes, or indeed, a whole heap of work, but the photography assignment was due extremely soon and he’d yet to think of anything appropriate. Being creative was annoyingly difficult.

     Truth be told, photography hadn’t been his first choice for university. In school he had been interested in science subjects, not so much maths, and he had briefly considered archaeology as well. But then he had started to consider the pros and cons of it all. In university, those fields were not only competitive, but it seemed everyone was expecting you to come up with some revolutionary cure, or write a paper with a completely independent to what anyone else had ever thought before.

     There was so much pressure to do well in the highly intellectual areas too. One small failure and it would be a mark on your record forever. In the end, to avoid the probing of his family and friends as to what he had decided upon, he landed on photography. A straightforward Arts course that was centred on something he quite liked doing anyway ever since his second year of high school, when Yachi and Kiyoko had bought him a good quality digital camera for his birthday so he could “commemorate his favourite events”.

     At first the course was simple and straightforward. And then he had to start looking for meaning in _everything_. Tsukishima could bullshit interpretations of a dancer covered in flour and ash in the middle of a deserted playground, but making things up got exhausting at times.

     He envied his classmates. Analyses came naturally to them. Creative thinking came naturally—they all seemed to thrive on exchanging their ideas. He felt his brow come down in a heavy frown. He didn’t want to fail.

     The plate clattered as he put it in the sink and went back to his room, gathering up his things and putting them in his book bag. The shower cranked off as he finished up, and Akaashi stepped out as Tsukishima passed the bathroom. “You’re leaving now?”

     His eyelashes were long and still spiked together from the water. Tsukishima looked away. “Mm. I’m heading out.”

     “See you later,” Akaashi said behind him.

     Yamaguchi texted him when he was getting off the bus. It was a selfie of him, Yachi, and Yachi’s mother sitting at a table laden with sukiyaki. All three of them were beaming and Tsukishima had to squint past the metaphorical sunshine.

 

**> dinner from last night! the cake really helped thank you so much Tsukki []**

**> > sent 8.21 AM**

**> What were you expecting, a lynching?**

**> > sent 8.22 AM**

**> you know how parents are about tattoos and piercings etc…but she seemed kind of cool with it?**

**> > sent 8.22 AM**

**> Maybe it’s a graphic artist thing.**

**> > sent 8.23 AM**

Their high school volleyball club manager for their first year had been a beautiful girl named Kiyoko Shimizu, who had followed a graphic artist path—until she had started implementing her watercolour designs into tattoo art. Tsukishima rolled his shoulders back a little under his shirt, remembering what her graduation present had been for Yamaguchi, Hinata, Kageyama and himself.

 

**> haha maybe?? we're helping Hitoka-chan’s mother clean the house today and then we’re going to the zoo together when she finishes her work**

**> > sent 8.25 AM**

**> …you sound awfully chipper about that.**

**> > sent 8.26 AM**

**> （*´▽｀*） ooh sorry Tsukki, am I being uselessly hot-blooded?**

**> > sent 8.27 AM**

Tsukishima pressed his lips together thinly, striding past the first of the campus buildings—the gym.

 

**> Yes.**

**> >sent 8.27 AM**

 

He tucked his phone away, resisting the urge to grind his teeth together. Yamaguchi had a sly streak to him sometimes that Tsukishima never liked responding to—it always fuelled the flames of his playful teasing.

     There was no way to incorporate the dinner selfie into his project, was there?

     He dug his hands into his pockets, running through some cookie-cutter ideas in his head. The typical angels vs. demons theme, or a series of time lapsed shots of the playground opposite the apartment lot, life is fleeting, we grow up so fast, so and so forth, etc. He didn’t doubt he could come up with a substantial explanation of why his idea was ‘deep’, the thing that really left the bad taste in his mouth was knowing they were recycled concepts and there was no special touch to them.

     Muffled shouts came from within the university gym as he walked past, along with a girl screaming, “ _Nice kill!_ ” Tsukishima was comfortable enough to admit to himself he missed playing volleyball, especially with their victories at high school Nationals in his first and third year. He wondered who else was on the university volleyball team alongside Akaashi, Bokuto and Kuroo. He wasn’t even sure of the extent of their skills—Karasuno had never had matches that coincided with Fukurodani or whatever school Kuroo was from, nor had they gone up against them.

     He was one of the earlier people to arrive at class, settling near the back, toward the far left. Tsukishima took to drumming his fingers soundlessly on the edge of the desk, watching through half-opened eyes as people filed in one by one. When their teacher finally got in, he reluctantly took off his headphones and straightened up in his chair.

     “Who wants to discuss the upcoming partner project?” the teacher started, and Tsukishima clamped down the sigh that welled up in his throat. After all, he hadn’t even gotten halfway through their first assignment.

     After some debate, names were drawn out at random and Tsukishima was paired with a girl named Eriko who was absent. Thankfully, that meant he could sit by himself and stew for the rest of the lesson. Why did he even bother to turn up to morning classes at all?

     His phone dinged with a notification—he had been invited to karaoke that afternoon with some of his Karasuno upperclassmen. They must have grabbed the first open day they had, since timetables and classes and clubs had been shifting around and taking up everyone’s time, not to mention jobs as well. Speaking of which, Kaito had also texted him, asking Tsukishima to fill in from 1-6 for him that day since he was sick. Sick. Sure.

     Tsukishima mentally paused. Earning money, or spending it?

     Working at the bakery, or watching Tanaka strip and gyrate to UVERworld?

     Money, or friends…

 

**> ok**

**> > sent 11.20 AM**

 

Hm, not as hard of a decision as he thought it’d be. He typed out a short refusal to the karaoke invitation, ignoring Nishinoya’s subsequent “boo, hiss”, but replying to Ennoshita’s acknowledgement with a “sorry, Ennoshita-senpai”, knowing the deliberate “senpai” would piss Nishinoya off.

     Nothing else to do at university anymore, other than leech off the free WiFi. That was the downside he had found about doing a single degree in Arts; he had too much time on his hands more often than not. Might as well head home and take a few experimental time lapse shots of the playground. Make sure to add some trees in there, nature was always an ideal subject to drag hidden meaning out of.

     Even though rush hour at public transport had already passed, the bus was still packed when Tsukishima got on. It lurched clumsily around the corners, almost sending him into a little old man’s lap multiple times. If looks could kill he’d be nothing more than a bag of bones by the time he finally stumbled off and was able to breathe.

     “Tsukki!” Bokuto hollered out the window as he passed below. “ ‘Sup?”

     Tsukishima flipped him off without looking up, heading inside.

     Bokuto was floating around the opened door of his apartment when Tsukishima made it up. He was barefoot and shirtless and Tsukishima wrinkled his nose.

     “I don’t know how you get up the strength to go to such an early class,” Bokuto confessed.

     “It’s because he’s a freshman,” Akaashi said from inside.

     Tsukishima cocked his head to one side. “Akaashi-san? What are you doing in there?”

     “They trapped me,” came Akaashi’s droll reply.

     Kuroo popped his head over Bokuto’s shoulder—but Bokuto’s hair meant only the top half of Kuroo’s face appeared. “He tried to get in when he came back from his morning run. I think he forgot he even moved.”

     Tsukishima unintentionally recalled what had happened that morning and fought back a furious blush. “I can imagine,” he said pointedly, making sure his voice was loud enough for Akaashi to hear. Who showered before a run anyway?

     Bokuto and Kuroo exchanged a look. “Come on inside, Tsukki, Kuroo finally finished his group assignment and he’s recovered from his murderous rage,” Bokuto said, attempting to be encouraging and failing.

     “I’m good.”

     “We’ve got food?” Kuroo tried.

     “I’d do it for a thousand yen,” Tsukishima stated. He heard Akaashi snort quietly and felt a tiny bit proud.

     Bokuto spread his arms in surrender. “Students, bro. We’re all broke here.”

     “I’ll be on my way.”

     He was fitting his key into the lock when Bokuto asked, “Hey, you go to Renkai too, don’t you? What do you study?”

     Tsukishima felt the typical and irrational surge of annoyance and stress at the question and pushed it down. “Photography.”

     “Excellent, someone professional to immortalise my sweet guns,” Bokuto beamed, kissing his biceps.

     “Yeah, bye.”

     “He ran away again!” Tsukishima heard Bokuto gripe, blessedly muffled.

     “He’s a _coward_ ,” Kuroo sang out, and suddenly his voice was right next to Tsukishima’s head like he was pressing his entire face against the wall of his own room. “ _Coward_.”

     “Shut up,” Tsukishima barked at the wall and immediately felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

     “Never-r-r-r.” It was like Kuroo was trying to start a haunting.

     Tsukishima escaped to the safety of his room, shifting through his desk until he unearthed his camera and lens set. Time to make a break for it.

     He was placing his hand on the doorknob when it turned under his palm and Akaashi stepped in, all in a blur and then tripping over Tsukishima’s feet.

     “Gah!” He almost went down but regained his footing at the last second, his usual stoic look replaced for the briefest moment by wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock. Tsukishima felt a smile skitter across his face and pulled it back.

     “Please don’t be drunk again,” he said archly.

     Akaashi gave him A Look, settling down on the small step leading into the apartment to take off his shoes. “This early in the morning, who wouldn’t be?”

     Tsukishima thought of Tanaka. “I could actually name a few people.”

     “So could I, more’s the pity.” Akaashi’s clam exterior slid back into place as he regained the last bits of his composure. “Doing a shoot or something?” he asked, gesturing toward the camera around Tsukishima’s neck.

     “I like to cosplay as an American tourist in my spare time,” Tsukishima said.

     “Me too, actually.” Akaashi delivered the line so easily Tsukishima stopped for a second, missing the counter-sarcasm.

     When he got it, he _tsked_. “I have an assignment due soon that I haven’t started yet.”

     “Oh?” Akaashi stopped from where he had been tugging off his shoe. “What’s it on?”

     “A photo series with a theme of your choice, but it has to relate to timelessness.” Tsukishima fiddled with the camera. “Sounds simple but sucks.”

     “I get it,” Akaashi said, resting back on his hands. “Uni’s like that. Questions aren’t set out for you, you have to define them yourself. And everything’s so open—”

     “It starts messing with your head,” Tsukishima finished, tapping his fingernails on the rim of the camera. “Overthinking. Right?”

     “Exactly.”

     “Timelessness can relate to just about anything too if you want to look hard enough,” Tsukishima said bitterly. “I could take a picture of a brick and bullshit that.”

     “Don’t do things half-assed,” Akaashi advised, sounding like a proper senpai that Tsukishima might have taken seriously, had it not been for his lasting first impression of the guy. “That aside, do you have any ideas?”

     He turned away. “Not really. Maybe time-lapse stuff.”

     “Is that the blurry photos?”

     “I guess.”

     There was a short awkward silence, broken by Akaashi suddenly asking, “You don’t mind if I use my piano in the living room, do you?”

     “I don’t care, it’s as much your place as it is mine.” Truthfully he was a little curious to see how Akaashi played, but he wasn’t about to say it. “I’ll be out for now.”

     The little old lady who lived on the other side of Bokuto and Kuroo was inching her way to the elevator. As Tsukishima swiftly passed her on the way to the stairs, he was fairly sure he heard her scornfully mutter at him, “ _Youth_.”

     She was definitely half deaf if she couldn’t even hear the raucous college-student-laughter filtering down from the other end of the hall, much less their two good neighbours banging right next door. Maybe one day Tsukishima would turn out as crotchety as her. He felt he had it in him.

     The sun warmed his skin as he crossed the road, lighting upon the last of the cherry blossoms that had yet to fall. The newsanchors had been predicting a rainfall by the end of the week that would see the _sakura_ season end, and Tsukishima wondered how many of his classmates would be rushing to get cherry blossom trees in their shots.

     There was only one girl and her father playing at the playground when Tsukishima got to its edge, and he didn’t miss the suspicious look the father cast his way. Another thing he’d forgotten to consider—how creepy he would look taking pictures of kids; even if they were all blurred over, their parents wouldn’t know when they saw Tsukishima snapping a few.

     He ground his teeth together. Of course it would come to this, his very first assignment and he couldn’t scrape anything together. Pathetic.

     He almost missed the uniformity of school.

     It was time to go to work before he knew it. He had ended up loitering around the edges of the park, taking photos of trees (and dying cherry blossoms, much to his chagrin). Oh well. They could be a backup plan.

     The apartment was deathly quiet when he re-entered, and for a moment he thought Akaashi had left, until he saw he had set up his keyboard and stool facing the wall and was running his fingers over the keys, brow furrowed in concentration.

     Tsukishima was confused until he saw the earphones Akaashi wore. And he had been wrong about the place being quiet—every now and then, the stool would squeak when Akaashi shifted.

     Tsukishima had a side-on view of him, but even from just that he could make out the emotion that flowed across Akaashi’s face, flowed through his fingers, tightened and loosened his shoulders. He was captivating.

     No sooner than Tsukishima thought that, he was striding across into the refuge of his room and dumping his camera bag, dressing in his work clothes in record time. Akaashi had one earphone out when he returned and was looking puzzled. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

     “Someone could have broken in and killed you,” Tsukishima said lightly, slipping into his shoes. “I’m leaving again, so try to stay in one piece.”

     As he walked down the streets, he internally shuddered at the thought of doing what Akaashi had been doing, that was, displaying his emotions so openly. Even considering himself in that position made his stomach churn with discomfort. He didn’t know how people could just put themselves out there without minding.

     Yoriko had chocolate smeared over both cheeks when he got in and he couldn’t stop himself from snorting. She glared, reminding him of his mother.

     “Get out there right now, young man, you’ve taken long enough,” she said sternly.

     “Yes, yes,” he said. The chocolate looked like war paint, which was very fitting for Yamada Yoriko.

     The girl at the front, Aya, brightened when she saw him. “It’s been really quiet in here. Have fun.”

     She shook her hair out from her ponytail when she passed him, hitting him in the face with a waft of cherry scent that he almost choked on. Damn fruit smells, he got tired of them so quickly.

     The shadows stretched long as time passed, and Tsukishima’s yawns grew wider. He wished he was allowed to use his phone out the front, but if Yoriko caught him she would be using him as mincemeat. A few people he vaguely recognised came through, faces from the dorms, a regular or two, and Kaito sauntering past hand-in-hand with some taller guy in a loose hoodie. When he caught Tsukishima’s eye he did a double take, looked up at the shop sign as if realising where he actually was, and darted off, dragging the guy behind him.

     Tsukishima felt a vein in his temple twitch. He’d have a few words with Kaito later.

     He was half dozing off at the counter when the bell dinged, and he automatically straightened. “Welcome—”

     “Tsukishima-san?” Dark eyes blinked curiously at him, framed by long, softly curled lashes.

     “Akaashi-san,” he returned levelly, instantly on guard. He looked warily over Akaashi’s shoulder, ready to see Bokuto and Kuroo with their faces pressed to the glass.

     “They’re at karaoke,” Akaashi said. What a terrific mind reader.

     Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed.

     “I’ll keep your secret.”

     He exhaled, long and slow. “Please.”

     Akaashi wandered over to the cupcake selection. “So, this is the place you work at?”

     Tsukishima spread his hands out. “What gave it away?”

     “It was the hair,” Akaashi returned without missing a beat. “And the flour on your nose.”

     “The—what?” Tsukishima rubbed his nose and sneezed.

     Akaashi laughed in a short, delighted burst. “You’re easily fooled.”

     “I am _not_.” _It’s just because it’s you,_ he thought, irritated.

     “Who’s your friend?” Yoriko emerged from the back, balancing two teacakes on a tray. “Or if he’s not, don’t chat up the customers, Tsukishima-kun.”

     Everyone had it out for him today, didn’t they? Tsukishima just scowled.

     “I’m his roommate, Akaashi Keiji.” Akaashi bowed respectfully. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

     “Wonderful manners for one so young,” Yoriko said happily, sliding the cakes onto the refrigerated shelf. “I’m Yamada Yoriko, but call me Yamada-san.”

     “Yamada-san!” Eri called from the back. “I think the ganache is on fire!”

     “Then _put it out_!” Yoriko bellowed, bustling off in a panic.

     “She’s very nice,” Akaashi observed. “And sort of…”

     “Informal?”

     “Yeah, a bit.”

     Tsukishima shrugged. “It’s a small place and she owns it, and we all know each other here.”

     Akaashi drifted over to the individual cake slices, a finger pressed to the underside of his chin.

     “So what brought you here of all places?”

     Akaashi shrugged, a one-shouldered shrug. “I was bored and wanted to walk around. Then I was hungry.”

     “Fair enough.” Tsukishima retreated to the counter and watched Akaashi go back and forth, _hmm_ -ing softly under his breath. Why did Akaashi have to have a sweet tooth? Tsukishima knew right then and there it was inevitable Kuroo and Bokuto were going to track him down eventually.

     Finally Akaashi made his selection, a peach and chocolate concoction that Tsukishima had never tried before. He packaged it neatly, trying to ignore the way Akaashi stared at his hands folding the paper. Did he really care that much if the wrapping got crumpled?

     “I have volleyball club later,” Akaashi said as he passed forward his money. “With the others. You were in Karasuno’s team, why didn’t you join Renkai's?”

     “Forgot about it,” Tsukishima lied. Truthfully he had thought about it before university started, but just couldn’t bring himself to suggest it. Yamaguchi hadn’t brought it up either because at the time his had had been filled with thoughts of Yachi, and Tsukishima suspected that despite being a crucial pinch server, Yamaguchi wasn’t as heavily invested the game outside high school.

     “We’re still looking for members,” Akaashi said, almost hesitantly. “Kuroo’s the only one good blocker we’ve got, too.”

     “Didn’t you—” Tsukishima started, then forced himself to stop. _Didn’t you win a competition last year?_ he had been going to ask, then realised Akaashi would know Tsukishima had stalked his Facebook profile.

     “Didn’t I what?”

     “Never mind.” Obviously some members would have graduated the university. “Why do you want me to join?”

     “More members, and your high school team won two Nationals championships?”

     Tsukishima honestly couldn’t find it in himself to come up with a plausible excuse. He blamed Yamaguchi’s lecture from first year as why he had grown to love the sport, anyhow. “…What time.”

     “Five to seven, at Renkai gymnasium.” Akaashi’s eyes had brightened, a contrast to his stoic expression. “You’ll come?”

     “I’ll see how it goes.” Tsukishima gestured vaguely behind him. “Not sure when I’ll finish up.” He actually clocked off at four, but he wasn’t about to say that.

     “We’ll see you there then,” Akaashi said in a tone that allowed no arguments. He waved his goodbye—if you could call raising a hand upward without actually moving it a wave goodbye—and left. The shop bell tinkled in his wake.

     Tsukishima found himself opening and closing his hand, reminiscent of how he stretched his fingers at warmups. It had been a while since he actually played. Not too long, but a while.

     Yoriko and Eri were talking in hurried hushed voices that Tsukishima could now only hear because the shop was deserted. He didn’t bother with trying to eavesdrop, thinking it would be a waste of his time.

     One stray question made itself known to him, however. It was from Eri, who had _obviously_ misheard his and Akaashi’s entire exchange.

     “ _Who has a date at a gym_?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit 25/05/16: yo guys! I thought I'd add a little message here since I've left this fic for like...2 months lol...anyway after 2-3 weeks (maybe 4) after my exams are over, I'll get into writing the next chapter. **I can't let myself drop this fic**
> 
> If like 5 months goes by without an update pls punch me
> 
> love you guys


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to that one anon who asked me on my tumblr when I was going to update. You reminded me to get my shit together (like a month or so ago). Well my shit got together a tiny bit. Sorry if it feels rushed...
> 
> NOTE: Going to change TOKAI to RENKAI (fictional name), because I didn't like writing about a university that I know virtually nothing about.

 

 

 

The squeaking of his shoes on the volleyball court and the sweat dripping into his eyes both reminded Akaashi of his high school days, as well as keeping him rooted in the present. Maybe he should consider it strange that such a thing would keep him grounded, yet he couldn’t find it weird at all. What would feel weird was to _not_ play volleyball after all this time.

     “Akaashi!” hissed Nakajima, a third-year who was an on-and-off player, but who was reliable enough to show up when they had a serious match scheduled. “Send it to me next!”

     “Nah, here! Here!” bellowed Bokuto from Akaashi’s left. He pumped his arms around like he was at a rave concert.

     They were playing three-on-three, with the other side serving. Alongside Kuroo, who was leering at Bokuto from across the net, stood Hasegawa and Watanabe, both of whom were casual players like Nakajima, but a lot more flighty about it.

They were pretty good—Watanabe, for instance, had an eye for receives—but they weren’t dedicated. The same thing had happened last year with a round of different team members, and it was only thanks to several strokes of luck and Bokuto fanning some potential players with a few thousand-dollar yen bills that they’d been able to cobble together a team to win a round of university games.

     Watanabe served. It arced high over the net, a receive that should have been easy, except Nakajima tripped over his untied shoelaces when sending it toward Akaashi. Bokuto continued to wave his arms.

     Kuroo leered some more.

     Akaashi groaned inwardly and set to Bokuto, who whooped and slapped it down. Quick as a snake Kuroo reached out and the ball bounced off his forearm. “Free ball,” Akaashi called out, his eyes fixed on it.

     Nakajima went for it again and stumbled once more. Just tie up your shoelaces, Akaashi wanted to grumble, but trivial bad luck clung to Nakajima, the kind of bad luck that saw his umbrella broken, his bike lock key disappeared off his keychain, a split in his plastic shopping bag. Maybe Nakajima should just get Velcro shoes.

     Yet the ball he sent toward Akaashi was simple to set. Bokuto whooped again and backed up a few steps to prepare.

     Akaashi narrowed his eyes, checked his surroundings from his peripherals, and neatly dumped the shot over the net.

     “What?” Bokuto gaped at him, betrayal all over his features. “You said you’d set to me!”

     “Sorry, Nakajima-san,” Akaashi said instead. “Next time I’ll set to you.”

     Nakajima had a boyish, innocent face that only grew more innocent when he smiled. He did so now, saying good naturedly, “It’s all right, that was my fault. I’m really sorry.”

     “Even I could have received that.” Tsukishima smirked down on Kuroo from the side of the court. He wasn’t wearing glasses, which probably meant contacts. The lack of glasses didn’t take any impact away from his condescending stare.

     If Akaashi had been holding the ball, he would have dropped it.

     “Tsukki!” Bokuto exclaimed. “When did you get here?”

     Tsukishima’s smirk changed into mild disgust with astonishing speed. “Don’t call me that,” was all he said.

     “How long have you been there, Tsukishima-san?” Akaashi managed to say, getting past his surprise. He took in Tsukishima quickly, noticing the casual shirt and sport shorts he wore, half hidden under a baggy jacket. Akaashi felt anticipation stir through him. Was Tsukishima going to join after all?

     “I came over just as Kuroo-san’s side served.”

     “Akaashi he answers,” Bokuto grumbled to Kuroo. “What makes him so special?”

     “Do you really want me to answer that?”

     “Oi!”

     “So…are you going to introduce the newcomer or not?” Hasegawa squinted in mock suspicion at Tsukishima, who looked back at him blankly.

     A round of greetings was made. “Did you know I’m the captain?” Kuroo beamed as he said it. Tsukishima looked unimpressed. “Akaashi’s the vice-captain.”

     “Something feels a little off here,” Tsukishima said dryly. Nakajima choked back a laugh behind Akaashi, who felt a little thrown by Tsukishima’s comment. Did he mean Akaashi should have been captain instead? Or that he was a shit vice? Or Kuroo was a shit captain?

     Kuroo flapped his hand noncommittally. “All newbies give me that attitude before I break ‘em down,” he said with a wide grin. Tsukishima huffed. “So, where should we put you—”

     “I wanted to ask you something before I start,” Tsukishima said. He shrugged off the small bag he had been carrying, unzipping it and pulling out a camera. “Can I take a few pictures of some plays? It’s for an assignment.”

     “Oh? What do you do?” Nakajima bounced forward on the balls of his feet, eyes bright with inquisitiveness.

     “Photography,” Tsukishima said shortly. “I’m just taking pictures now and figuring out the details later.”

     “Art analysis is easy enough to make up anyway.” Watanabe shrugged. “I’m cool with it.”

     “Make sure you get all the idiot faces he pulls,” Hasegawa said, neatly dodging the punch Watanabe aimed at him.

     They took their positions again, this time with Bokuto serving. The clicking of Tsukishima’s camera faded into the background as the ball took Akaashi’s attention. When he focused on its spinning and the way it bounced lightning-fast to each player, everything else fell away.

     Bokuto received Kuroo’s spike and hooted at him. Akaashi barely registered that. He only saw the ball falling toward him, millisecond by millisecond…

     …and realised he wasn’t sure where Nakajima was. He was saved by the guy himself yelling out “here!”, but even as the ball left his fingers he knew that set wasn’t the best he could do. It got to Nakajima fine, but his spike was returned in the form of Kuroo sending it to an unguarded back corner.

     Akaashi ground his teeth as Kuroo’s side shouted in glee. What a juvenile mistake, to forget to plan for the aftermath of his set…it was the kind of thing his Fukurodani coach would have pounded his head in for.

     “Better luck next time,” Bokuto slapped him on the shoulder. Akaashi felt better for an instant, before Bokuto put on his huge, obnoxious grin and said, “that’s why you should be setting to _me_!”

     “Ugh, shut up,” Akaashi grumbled.

     That was a bit irritating because it was true. He was used to relying on Bokuto to be in a good spiking position, and Bokuto had such a presence on the court it was near impossible for anyone to miss him.

     They went a couple more rounds, Akaashi pushing to take in his surroundings. Kuroo and Hasegawa shut out one of Bokuto’s spikes, but Nakajima got the point back by aiming at the empty space between Hasegawa and Watanabe. The ball bounced off Watanabe’s arm and rocketed toward the wall.

     At last Hasegawa begged for a break, jogging to where his water bottle was and chugging it. Akaashi was glad for the breather. Playing three-on-three was especially taxing and the rules had to be bent a little so they could all fill more roles than they had to so they could imitate a full court.

     Kuroo and Bokuto were poking each other through the gaps in the volleyball net. Akaashi rolled his eyes and wandered over to Tsukishima, who was looking through his photos. “Did you get anything good?” he asked.

     Tsukishima shrugged half-heartedly. “It’ll do,” he said, but Akaashi didn’t miss how the little frown he had been wearing when he came in was now gone.

     “Could I see some?”

     “…Yeah.” Tsukishima pressed a few buttons and showed Akaashi the screen. It showed Hasegawa lunging sidewards into Kuroo as they both tried to block Bokuto’s cross-spike, their cheeks smooshing together. Kuroo’s eyes had widened comically, making him look like a madman. “I think this one really speaks to the soul.”

     Akaashi snorted. “Get it framed for Bokuto-san.”

     “That’s not a bad idea.”

     Tsukishima turned the camera around for the next one, which was a vertical full-body shot of Bokuto winding his arm back for a powerful spike. It would have been perfect, except for—

      Akaashi felt himself flush.

     “What is that _face_ you’re making there?” Tsukishima snorted derisively. The camera had captured half of Akaashi’s face in the lower corner, with his eyes squinting and his mouth open in an exhale, except for some reason he was pursing his lips at the same time. He looked utterly ridiculous, and that was an understatement.

     “Delete that,” Akaashi said, keeping his brief moment of panic under check. Akaashi Keiji did not beg.

     “How about no.” And Tsukishima Kei wasn’t the kind of person who’d ignore some good blackmail.

     He sighed aggressively. “At least crop me out?”

     “That’d cut off half of Bokuto-san’s elbow, and what good would that do?” Tsukishima went to the next photo before Akaashi could argue some more. He’d stood at an angle that let him take a shot of Bokuto and Kuroo glaring at each other through the net. They would have looked truly formidable, if not for the very next one where they both had their tongues stuck out.

     The next photo was of Akaashi. His knee-jerk reaction was embarrassment, but this picture looked a lot better than his photobomb. He was frowning in concentration, staring upward at a volleyball out of the frame, his knees bent slightly as he prepared to jump. For the next shot Tsukishima had dropped to his knees or something, because the camera lens followed Akaashi’s frame as he jumped upward, his hair silhouetted by the ceiling lights.

     Tsukishima clicked past those ones quicker than he had with Bokuto and Kuroo. Akaashi tried not to feel pettily offended. The next photos were of Kuroo, then Nakajima. Then Akaashi. Then Watanabe, then Kuroo arguing with Hasegawa. And then Akaashi. One more of Bokuto, followed by Watanabe again.

     Akaashi once more.

     “Well, they do say pictures last longer,” Akaashi heard himself say. Tsukishima _tsked_ , his ears red with annoyance, and turned off the camera.

      “You just got in the way,” he said over his shoulder. He roughly tucked the camera back into its bag. “When can I play?”

     “Um…”

     “Oi, Tsukishima,” Hasegawa called out. “I gotta leave now, so take my spot.”

     “Who said you could leave, ingrate?” Bokuto stomped over and headlocked Hasegawa.

     “If one of my underclassmen had ever ordered me around like that…” Tsukishima muttered. He took off his jacket regardless, and dumped his things next to everyone else’s.

     Akaashi blinked. Something about Tsukishima’s tone struck him as odd. “Tsukishima-san, were you a vice captain in school?”

     “I was the captain in my third year,” Tsukishima said.

     “What?” Bokuto forgot he had a hold on Hasegawa, who yanked himself bodily out of the headlock. “You? A _captain_?”

     Tsukishima wrinkled his nose. It was kind of adorable. “Suspend your disbelief, please.”

     “Your poor underclassmen,” Kuroo whispered, holding a hand to his mouth in mock sorrow. “Under such a dictatorship…”

     “You barely know me!” Tsukishima snapped. “And we won Nationals. So I was doing it right.”

     “I hope his vice reminded him his team was human,” Bokuto stage-whispered to Kuroo, who nodded sagely.

     “That’s the only way they could have made it,” his boyfriend agreed.

     “So…why aren’t you at a sports school or something?” Akaashi asked him quietly. “I’d imagine you would have received quite a few offers…”

     “Yeah. I did.” Tsukishima left it at that, going to the court to stretch.

     There was no telling what would put Tsukishima on edge, was there? Akaashi shook his head, reaching for his water bottle. Now they had a team with four ex-captains and three casuals. He didn’t feel too good when he thought about it.

    “Too many cooks will spoil the broth,” he heard Nakajima say to Watanabe with a sigh.

     Bokuto had settled relatively well under Kuroo’s and Akaashi’s leadership, although he inadvertently took the reins every now and then. Someone with his skills did expect things to go his way, to a certain degree. Tsukishima didn’t seem the kind that would settle so easily, especially if he wasn’t very familiar with any of his team. Too often Akaashi had to act as a mediator (and Bokuto translator) between the players of his team. He was worried if he tried to mediate Tsukishima he’d have his legs cut out from under him through Tsukishima’s sharp words alone.

     And Tsukishima’s abrasiveness was another reason why Akaashi didn’t know what way to bring up how Tsukishima had taken so many photos of him out of all the other players. Had it just been coincidence? Could it be considered creepy? Was Tsukishima telling the truth, and Akaashi really had just gotten in the way?

     “Tsukishima, do some stretches. Let’s start off with spike and serve drills to get Tsukishima warmed up,” Kuroo ordered to the rest of them, his voice confident and firm. Catching sight of Hasegawa almost out the door, he hollered, “You’re getting flying falls next time, Hasegawa!”

     “You suck at persuasion!” Hasegawa shot back before he vanished.

     “And you lost him.” Akaashi rolled his eyes.

     Kuroo frowned. “Kind of wish it wasn’t so easy for college students to just give up on clubs. Let’s get started on those drills.”

     Akaashi glanced at Tsukishima sidelong in worry, wondering how he’d react under someone else’s captaincy after jumping straight back into action without his previous authority. Rather than looking peeved, Tsukishima was looking at Kuroo, his face shuttered and giving nothing away apart from his calculating gaze. In that moment, Akaashi remembered Tsukishima had never seen Kuroo behave like a leader.

     Kuroo took Watanabe off to the side and talked to him quietly while Tsukishima stretched, the words “receive” and “sidestepping” audible. Bored, Akaashi bounced the volleyball a little in his hands, his eyes snagging on Tsukishima stretching his legs. He had never noticed how pale and long they were. Slender, but well-muscled.

     “Akaashi, you’re with me,” Kuroo said, once Tsukishima had finished. “Everyone else, line up on the other side. We’ll use the balls from there,” he thumbed in the direction of the small cart on the edge of the court, “and then rotate so me and Akaashi can have a go. Then we’ll split into two groups and have one side serving, the other receiving. Got that?”

     They all voiced their assent and moved into their respective positions. On the other side of the court Akaashi saw Nakajima rubbing the back of his head as he said something to Tsukishima, then in a very awkward gesture stuck out his hand for him to shake. Tsukishima reciprocated very stiffly. When they stood next to each other, the height difference was even more pronounced. Nakajima was shorter than Akaashi.

     “Bokuto!” Kuroo called, tossing the ball over the net.

     “Te-tsu-rou!” Bokuto yelled back gleefully, leaping up as if he was on a spring and slamming the ball into the floor.

     Akaashi wasted no time in tossing upward to Nakajima, followed by Tsukishima. Tsukishima’s spike was textbook-perfect but it wasn’t particularly powerful nor inventive. Sometimes he missed the spike, or it went further back then it needed to, but when he connected with the ball his form was exactly how it was supposed to be.

     They finished with spiking drills and moved onto serves. Akaashi watched Tsukishima carefully from the back. He didn’t stray from a straightforward serve either; there were no frills or embellishes in his tossing up of the ball and hitting it over.

     “Have you ever tried jump serves, Tsukishima?” Kuroo asked from where he was observing them. “You’ve got a good height for a sharp angle…”

     Tsukishima just shrugged.

     Akaashi looked away. _How did he even become a captain?_

     After more drills, which Tsukishima weathered with a deadpan expression, they took to a three-on-three. Akaashi, Bokuto, Watanabe, against Kuroo, Tsukishima, and Nakajima. Nakajima kept darting nervous looks at Tsukishima, which Akaashi noticed with a bit of annoyance. He wished Nakajima would just focus on the game.

      The ball was soon in play. It went back and forth a few times, and then Bokuto slipped into Akaashi’s line of vision just as the ball descended toward his open palms. “Bokuto-san!” he called instinctively, the impact of the ball on his hands a rough, fleeting kiss.

     “Gotcha!” Bokuto shot back, whipping his arm down with lightning speed.

     There was an earsplitting _thwack_ as the ball hit the gymnasium floor. On Bokuto’s side. They all looked wordlessly at the volleyball as it rolled past Watanabe’s feet.

     “Wha—”

    “ _Heh_.”

     Akaashi tore his eyes from Bokuto’s gaping open mouth to where that snicker had come from. Tsukishima, who had just lowered his arms, was smirking at Bokuto’s dumbstruck expression.

     Then his eyes shifted, and with that tiny smug twist still on his lips he looked straight at Akaashi.

     Akaashi’s heart lurched right into his throat even as Kuroo recovered and yelled, “Nice _kill block_!”

     “What the hell!” Bokuto flung his arms out. “You were just waiting to do that, weren’t you?”

     “Mm. Maybe.”

     A memory Akaashi didn’t even know he had surfaced. He could dimly recall the mentions of the players Karasuno, the team that won Nationals twice in three years, was known for—among them the prodigy setter, the second Small Giant, the two metres tall player who could block out most anything, and even the ones he missed would be one-touches…

     Tsukishima proved that latter rumour to be true, as frustrated, Bokuto tried to cross-spike around him and was foiled as Tsukishima reached out his long arm and the ball glanced off his fingertips.

     The three-on-three was the most exhausting one Akaashi could remember having for a long while. The introduction of a new and startling good blocker pushed them all to match and outsmart him, and of course it didn't help that Tsukishima was crafty to begin with. They were constantly having to shift their positions to take into account this new threat. It was like Kuroo, already an outstanding blocker, had been multipled by three. Akaashi itched to play a practice match against a real team so he could be on the same side as Tsukishima and feel the satisfaction of having their opponents shut out completely, rather than the other way around.

      “And you said you haven’t played at all over the break,” Akaashi said to him, as they were packing up.

      “Muscle memory?” Tsukishima suggested off-handedly.

      “You just wanted to one-up us all,” Akaashi muttered into his water bottle.

      Tsukishima blinked at him, a barely-there smirk ghosting across his mouth. “I think it worked.”

      It had worked much too well. Akaashi was preoccupied with his thoughts as Kuroo gathered them up and discussed what they’d do next week and the potentials of contacting a neighbouring university’s volleyball team. He couldn’t stop analysing in his head how Tsukishima was so uniform, so reserved, until he was in his element of reaching out and snatching the thrilling satisfaction of a spike right out from under someone’s nose. He reacted well enough under Kuroo’s leadership but there was something lurking there under the surface.

     “See you all here next week! Bring Hasegawa,” he added to Watanabe, who shrugged.

     “I’ll do my best, but he’s fickle.” Watanabe and Nakajima waved their goodbyes, Nakajima determinedly not looking at Tsukishima. _What’s your problem?_ Akaashi wanted to say.

     “At least we have Tsukishima—”

     “—but can we rely on him to come?” Bokuto finished Kuroo’s sentence. They both stared at Tsukishima in a dead silence.

     “I live right next to you guys,” Tsukishima said peevishly.

     “Oh, yeah. He can’t run.” Kuroo adjusted his bag and slung his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders as they turned to leave.

     “Gross, you’re all sweaty.”

     “You don’t mind.”

     “Unbelievable,” Tsukishima said under his breath. “Does Kuroo have a personality disorder?”

     Akaashi rolled his eyes. “He’s serious when he wants to be, and when it matters.”

     “…Sure.”

     They followed the pair outside, where the warm breeze tickled the hair at the nape of Akaashi’s neck. The sun was setting, lengthening their shadows across the outdoor field.

     “Do you think you have everything you need for your photography project now?” Akaashi asked as they left the main entrance.

     “It’ll do,” Tsukishima said, settling his headphones around his neck. Tinny music came from the speakers, too quiet for Akaashi to make out.

     It reminded him of the new song he was writing for the piano. It was stumbling along in his head right now, bits and pieces that wouldn’t quite fit together. He glanced at Tsukishima, whose sharp features were softened by the dying sunlight. His head, ironically, looked haloed in gold.

     “What is it?” Tsukishima’s nose was wrinkled again. Instead of disdainful it was actually a little cute. Akaashi wondered if he knew he was doing that.

     “Nothing,” he lied.

    

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit 14/08/17: we may have another waiting period before the next chapter because personal issues are cropping up, sorry about that everyone


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little piano track I love that I envisioned Akaashi playing, and I'll link it in the story text itself (It's called 'Tears' or 涙, track 11 in the Ken ga Kimi OST). Please give it a listen while you read!

 

 

Tsukishima tapped his fingers on his desk with impatience, waiting while his photographs copied onto the laptop from the camera. His towel, damp after a quick shower, hung heavy around his neck. His body was tired in a good way from playing those three-on-threes, and he was perversely satisfied at the memory of the shock on everyone’s faces after he’d blocked out Bokuto’s spike. It erased any annoyance he had had of his high school captaincy being doubted.

      The laptop dinged, signalling the end of the transfer. Tsukishima disconnected the camera and opened a selection of photos to scrutinise.

      Delete, delete, save, delete. He was lucky that the lighting in the gymnasium had worked—partially—in his favour. As he scrolled through photos of Watanabe slipping and crashing into Kuroo, he wondered how his analysis paragraphs were going to go. He hadn’t been thinking of a theme, as this had been a last resort.

     Determination? He paused on a picture of Akaashi setting. It was side profile, but the glare of the lights blocked out whatever expression he had. Delete.

     Struggles in the face of adversity. That weird kid Naka…Naka-something reaching out for a hopeless receive with his teeth gritted. Okay, he could run with this.

     Unification of a team? Bokuto was jumping upward for a ball that hadn’t quite reached him, but it was clear from his posture that he’d hit it. Akaashi was just straightening up from setting. That was a good picture.

     There _were_ a lot of photographs of Akaashi. Tsukishima hadn’t noticed until he’d given his camera over for the guy to look at. Akaashi was just photogenic, Tsukishima told himself, which was why he’d been subconsciously drawn to take all those pictures. Obviously.

     _They say pictures last longer_.

     Tsukishima aggressively deleted most of them.

     It took him an hour to narrow it down to ten images, saving the majority in a separate file and specifically marking seven extra ones where the team looked exceptionally stupid. By the end of it his eyes were burning from staring at the screen and he rubbed at them fruitlessly, smudging the right lens of his glasses. He wanted to just decide on five photos—the maximum amount for the assignment—already, so he could cobble together a thesis and analysis.

     He slipped his headphones off and rocked the chair back two legs, thinking. The camera sat on his desk, a big black lump of clutter, and with a small jolt of annoyance he opened the desk drawer and put it on top of a ragged medical textbook Akiteru had given him at the start of the year, and clapped the drawer shut.

     Soft humming from outside caught his attention, punctuated by the tinkling of piano keys. Every now and then it would stop, and some paper would rustle.

     His irritation died as quickly as it had come. The humming was low and steady, but loud enough to make its way through the small crack in Tsukishima’s door. Despite sometimes going off-key as a tune was worked out, it was still soothing. Tsukishima let out a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in.

     The discordant sounds of Akaashi at work were strangely comforting. Tsukishima stayed in his chair, balancing it without thinking about he was doing, and let his mind wander. He stared at the blank wall above the desk without seeing it, constructing the first few sentences of his paragraphs in his head in a way that didn’t sound achingly pretentious.

     And then a woman’s voice blared out from the living room and he jumped, sending his chair toppling backward. “ _Fuck_!”

     “Oh no,” he heard past the adrenaline rush. Footsteps hurried into his room. “Tsukishima-san, are you alright?”

     “What the fuck was that?” Tsukishima grumbled, getting to his feet and dragging his chair up in a huff. He wished Akaashi had stayed outside.

     “My recording…I messed up the volume settings. That’s my classmate’s voice though. We have to do a collaboration piece.”

     “Funny, I thought it was your singing,” Tsukishima said, sarcasm oozing.

     At least Akaashi had the grace to look abashed. “I’m sorry—I assume it startled you?”

     “Only because I was falling asleep,” Tsukishima told him. “It was unexpected.”

     “I really am sorry.” Akaashi hesitated for a moment, spying the open laptop. “Are those the pictures you took?”

     “Yeah, I deleted some others.”

     “Why?” His lips quirked in a rare grin as he leaned against the doorframe. “Some of them were pretty good blackmail.”

     “I might have made an exception or two.”

     “Would it get Bokuto-san to buy food for us?”

     “Are you kidding? I don’t think that guy can even _be_ blackmailed.”

     “Oh, there were some cases…” Akaashi trailed off thoughtfully.

     “Either way, I do have pictures that would get _you_ to buy food for _me_.” Tsukishima smirked at the uncertain look on Akaashi’s face, which was hopefully his equivalent of horror.

     There was a beat of silence. Then, “You said you’d delete them.”

     “Never said such a thing.” Tsukishima shrugged innocently. “Did you know there were worse ones than the first I showed you?”

     “Ugh. Fine. What do you want?”

     “I’ll think of something eventually,” Tsukishima said offhandedly. “Thanks for your ideas though.

     Akaashi shook his head as he left. “You’re the kind of guy that betrays his friends way too easily.”

     Tsukishima held back a snicker as he shut the door behind Akaashi’s retreating back. His jacket had fallen off the chair when it toppled over, so he scooped it up as he went to revisit the ‘exceptions’. Not that there were many at all of Akaashi, since Tsukishima had lied. The only possible embarrassing photograph he had managed to snap with Akaashi in it had been the one they had already looked at in the courts.

     It had been pretty funny to see his new roommate’s face colour like that; in both indignation and resignation. His eyebrow did this subtle little twitch when he was annoyed, and given the company Akaashi kept Tsukishima half-expected it to turn into a permanent facial spasm any day now.

     The piano started up again, falteringly. Tsukishima tapped out a few sentences of his thesis statement, trying to pull up some of that creative analysis energy. He managed a grand total of five words before his brain burnt out and he sighed, twisting the headphone cord around his finger. “This is stupid,” he muttered to himself. Why did pictures always have to _mean_ something? Did everything always have to _mean_ something? It would be nice if sometimes, he didn’t have to puzzle out hidden double-meanings and metaphors when he took a photograph of a cloud.

     He closed his laptop without trying to think further. His stomach was starting to growl, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since practice, but he didn’t want to move. Instead, he pillowed his head on his arms, exhaling at the desk surface beneath his nose. Akaashi’s humming, quieter now the door was shut, was still soothing in that weird way as it curled against Tsukishima’s eardrums.

     Friends, Akaashi had said.

     When Tsukishima thought about it, he supposed they were.

 

***

 

He emerged from his room bleary-eyed and fuzzy headed sometime around nine o’clock. Akaashi was nowhere to be found, the only traces of him being the neatly stacked music sheets lying in a file on top of the switched off keyboard.

     Maybe Akaashi had tried to scram for the evening, avoiding potential blackmail for just a little longer. In the end though that would be pointless; try as he might Tsukishima couldn’t think of anything especially diabolical. Oh, if it was Kageyama he was blackmailing he could probably come up with a list as long as Dante’s Inferno and twice as poetic, but in this case his mind was drawing a blank. He’d probably have to go with Akaashi’s original idea.

     Given that the blackmail didn’t actually exist, just goading the guy into giving him food would be better than allowing anything to develop into a difficult situation. And it would be practical: apart from a few desserts and simple savoury meals, Tsukishima didn’t know too many recipes. When Yamaguchi had lived with him for most of the semester, he’d been preparing meals and Tsukishima had been paying for most of the groceries.

     _You could…why don’t you ever try harder?_

     He clenched his jaw against the memory and opened the small fridge. The past was irrelevant. What mattered was what was happening now.

     And what was happening now was that the fridge was empty apart from half a carton of milk. Tsukishima checked the cupboards. No more instant ramen. He groaned, leaning back against the counter. Would the supermarket still be open? That convenience store close to the apartments would be, but it didn’t have a very wide range…

     Tsukishima grabbed his keys and wallet and headed out.

     Generic pop music was playing softly on the overhead speakers in the store. The cashier gazed at Tsukishima with eyes glazed over in boredom, mumbling a half-hearted welcome. She pulled absently at her limp ponytail with a finger, tugging, twirling the strands at the end.

     Tsukishima turned up the volume a little on his iPod, so the music from the headphones around his neck drowned out the stuff on the radio. The middle-aged woman he passed side-eyed him with obvious disapproval, the frown lines embedded in her forehead deepening. What really made it funny was that by trying to look down her nose at him, she ended up glaring somewhere around his elbow. He felt like an edgy pre-teen as he fought back a smirk.

     Five or so minutes later, and he had in his hands some pre-packed sushi, instant ramen cups, and the new release of a manga magazine Yamaguchi had complained about not buying yet. When he had picked it up he had done a double-take—the title was dressed up in flowery pink, and covered in different groups of magical girls. Tsukishima could only hope this magazine was meant for Yachi.

     “Thousand five hundred yen for that,” the checkout girl informed him in quiet monotone. She had raised her eyebrows slightly at the manga, but thankfully hadn’t said anything.

     The breeze outside was refreshing, a nice contrast from the stale air of the convenience store. The days of the mid-September autumn wavered between the reminiscence of summer and the eagerness of the approaching winter, but the nights were almost always comfortably cool. Tsukishima flipped his hood up over his headphones, trusting that the well-lit sidewalk, still with a few people here and there, would prevent him from getting dragged into a back alley and robbed at knifepoint.

     Reaching the apartment block, he cast an involuntary glance at the park. It was empty and quiet, the swings creaking eerily. There was nobody sitting on the benches. _I wonder if he’s made it back home yet_ , Tsukishima thought.

     His question was answered when he opened the door to an apartment as empty as he had left it. In fact, the place seemed even more deserted when there was no noise coming from Bokuto and Kuroo’s apartment.

     He tossed the ramen cups and magazine onto his desk, and had three pieces of sushi already in his stomach before he reached the living room couch.

     His headphones clacked against the wood of the kotatsu tabletop as he set it and the iPod down. Polishing off two more sushi, he fished his phone out of his pocket, feeling it buzz in his fingers—a missed call notification. Written out plainly, without flair, was the name _Tsukishima Akiteru_.

     Tsukishima’s gut roiled. He unlocked the phone to delete the notification, his lips pressed hard together. As his thumb hovered over the screen, his phone vibrated suddenly and he fumbled it, just barely managing to catch it between his index and second finger.

     “ _Kei?_ ”

     “Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered. There was no helping it. He gingerly spoke into the receiver, “Yes.”

     “ _I didn’t expect you to pick up so quickly! How are you?_ ”

     The cheer in Akiteru’s voice set Tsukishima on edge. “What is it?”

     Akiteru sighed. “ _Not even going to answer me? You’re being blunter than usual, little brother_.”

     Tsukishima forced his shoulders to relax. “I’m fine. Could you please get to the point now?”

     “ _Mum’s wondering if you’ll visit home soon. We haven’t seen you in a while and she gets worried, you know_.”

     “Don’t lecture me. I just talked to her the other day, too.” The door opened and Tsukishima twisted around to see Akaashi.

     “— _think about others’ feelings once in a while?_ ”

     “Excuse me?” Tsukishima’s attention was wrenched right back to his brother’s reproachful voice.

     “ _You’ve grown so much more distant from us! Even when you came back on your break you barely spoke. You hardly stayed at home. Mum says you never call her first. You never call me first, either._ ”

     “Fine, I’ll call her later!” he said snappily. “Is that what you want?”

     “ _No! I mean, yes, but—seriously, Kei…the bottom line is we miss you._ ”

     Tsukishima paused, his clenched jaw loosening just slightly.

      “ _You never tell us how you are...or what you’re doing. Mum was under the impression you were going to change your course—_ ”

     “Why would I do that? I’m fine where I am.”

     “ _Really, Kei?_ ”

     “Well, what did I just say?” Tsukishima glared at the wall, his eyes catching on the stuffed dinosaur in the corner. He felt the urge to throw it across the room.

     “ _You never wanted to tell me how your photography was going, and all that_.”

     “There’s nothing to tell,” Tsukishima said. “I take pictures. I write about them. That’s it.”

     “ _You wouldn’t even show Mum or me anything when you were home_.”

     Tsukishima couldn’t stand the sadness in Akiteru’s voice. He got up from the couch and began pacing, ignoring Akaashi’s curious stare. “There’s nothing to show.” Reaching the stuffed dinosaur, he kicked it over, and resumed pacing in the opposite direction.

     “ _Kei…I’m your older brother. You know you can talk to me about anything that’s troubl—_ ”

     “I _said_ I’m fine!” His hand was fixed around the phone so tightly his knuckles were white. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

     “ _...I see_.”

     Tsukishima stopped pacing. “I’m glad you do,” he said bitterly. “See you later, then.”

     Hanging up without another word, he tossed the phone onto the couch, rolling his eyes when it bounced off and landed on the quilting surrounding the kotatsu.

     A mug clinked from the kitchen. “Hey,” said Akaashi, his back turned to Tsukishima.

     Tsukishima felt his frown deepen. “Hi,” he replied flatly.

     “Want some tea?” Akaashi asked, indicating the kettle he’d set to boil.

     “Oh—yeah.”

     Akaashi busied himself taking another mug out from the cupboard. Tsukishima reluctantly pocketed the mobile and sat down, bracing his hands behind his neck. His head had started to ache ever since Akiteru first said his name.

     He hated how his family kept pressing at him. Sometimes he just wanted his own space just so he could _breathe_. But they kept calling. Asking questions. Always with the questions. Tsukishima wasn’t made of answers.

     Water trickled into the mugs. Tsukishima didn’t move as Akaashi approached, but kept his gaze fixed on the lonely space on a shelf that had housed Yamaguchi’s video games.

     Akaashi’s arm entered his field of vision, forcing him to look up. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said, passing the mug.

     “Thanks,” he muttered.

     The couch dipped as Akaashi said on the other end, sipping quietly at his own beverage.

     Tsukishima stared at the dark green liquid before raising the mug to his lips. The aromatic steam fogged up his glasses almost instantly. He _tsked_ to himself in annoyance, taking a small mouthful anyway. At least Akaashi had the grace not to—

     “ _Ha_.”

     It had been a quiet, half-chuckle, but it had been there. “Did you just laugh at me?” Tsukishima demanded, trying to glare at Akaashi’s general direction.

     “No,” Akaashi said, his voice unnaturally calm.

     “Ugh, whatever.” Tsukishima propped his glasses on top of his head. Now everything was blurry, but at least it wasn’t blank, fuzzy whiteness. He sipped the tea again, feeling the heat slip down his throat comfortingly.

     “How bad’s your vision?” Akaashi asked over the rim of his mug.

     Just like that, the comforting feeling vanished. Tsukishima wanted to strangle someone again. “Bad enough.”

     “So…” Akaashi set his tea down and made two peace signs. “How many fingers?”

     “None, because they’re broken,” Tsukishima threatened.

     Akaashi laughed softly. “Wrong, it’s four.”

     “I didn’t think you were that type of asshole.” Tsukishima threw one of the cushions at him—or rather, his blurry figure.

     Akaashi batted it away without a flinch. The cushion sailed through the air and bounced off the wall. “Ah,” he said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

     “You can pick it up,” Tsukishima said, taking a long drink to hide his smile.

     The cushion had landed next to the fallen dinosaur plushie. Akaashi picked up the cushion, and reached back down to upright the toy. “Who was that on the phone?” he asked quietly.

     Tsukishima stiffened and cast his eyes to the side. “Nobody.”

     “Yeah?”

     “Just my brother,” he admitted.

     “Sounded a little rough,” Akaashi said carefully, making his way back to the couch.

     “It wasn’t.” His denial sounded hollow, even to himself.

     “Family can be difficult,” Akaashi said, acting like he hadn’t heard Tsukishima. “Sometimes I don’t get along well with my father. He still wants me to be a businessman or office worker.”

     That was just it, wasn’t it? Their situations were different, so even thinking of how to explain exhausted Tsukishima. “It's all a matter of perspective,” was all he came up with in response.

     “So would you say your situation’s difficult?”

     Tsukishima almost instinctively told him to shut up and stop nagging him, but it was that fact which stopped him. Akaashi didn’t sound nagging at all, but a little thoughtful, maybe even pensive. “I…guess. Not really.”

     "I see," Akaashi said. Tsukishima could feel his probing gaze.

     “ _Fine_ , it’s a little hard," he found himself saying, the words coming out through gritted teeth.

     Akaashi was silent, but patiently so. Tsukishima felt like biting off his own tongue in frustration. “I can’t live up to their expectations,” he said to his hands. “And my brother keeps…asking me stuff I can’t answer.” God, it sounded so trivial when he said it out loud. How could he articulate the pressure he felt in his chest whenever he noticed that veiled disappointment his mother and Akiteru had in him?

     “‘Taking pictures and writing about them’,” Akaashi quoted. “You know, if you don’t really like your major, have you thought about changing it?”

     Tsukishima felt himself draw back. “No point. I’m fine.” Lifting his drink and sushi, he stood up. “Thanks for the tea.”

     He felt Akaashi’s eyes on his back as he left. “No problem.”

     Pushing the door shut with his foot, Tsukishima stripped off his hoodie and dumped it on top of the small pile of textbooks in the corner that Akaashi had given back to him from his old room. It felt nice not to have to look at them.

     The gallery of photos he had taken was still open on his laptop. Despite having deleted some of them there were still quite a collection left he didn’t want to trash. Cycling through the images, memories of Karasuno rushed back to him. Tsukishima didn’t like to think of himself as sentimental, but he found he missed it. The sense of a team, the solidarity they had.

     The last mouthful of tea was scalding hot, but he didn’t care.

     Akaashi had started playing the [piano](http://k003.kiwi6.com/hotlink/2m39kp81bh/11._.mp3) again in the living room, this time a gentle, seamless tune. It rose and fell like gentle wavelets running across a pond’s still surface, never too intense or urgent. Tsukishima remembered the other time he had seen Akaashi play, how the other boy’s guardedness had fallen away.

     He closed the laptop and lay down on his bed.

     The music eased his muscles, softening the crease of his constant frown. He could almost picture Akaashi playing, eyes half-lidded and fingers dancing across the keys.

     The song whispered to him, _sleep_ , like a gentle hand on his forehead taking away the ache there.

     He was drifting off slowly when a knock on the front door cut off the sounds of the instrument. Bokuto’s muffled calling disturbed the peace Tsukishima had been feeling and his eyelids opened in a slit to glare at the ceiling.

     Akaashi said something back, and was answered by Kuroo. Their voices were intelligible but as irritating as a fly buzzing around. Tsukishima was considering getting up to berate the two intruders when the door closed, and there was silence.

     Emptiness.

     He guessed whatever Bokuro and Kuroo had to say, it persuaded Akaashi to leave with them. Tsukishima now felt more awake than ever. His thoughts began to clamour about, each worry demanding his attention. He couldn’t think of how to expand upon his chosen theme for the photography assignment, in fact, every time he thought about the assignment he wanted to puke. He imagined calling his mother, like Akiteru had said to. Tsukishima didn’t know what he would say to her. She knew he was in university, doing the same thing he did at the beginning of the year. But she would still want to know _more_ , but he didn’t have _more_.

     A selfish part of him wished Bokuto and Kuroo had never come to the door, then Akaashi would still be around and Tsukishima’s brain would shut up.

     He had a double shift tomorrow at the cake shop. His boss, Yoriko, said it was time he learned to make something other than misshapen strawberry shortcake. Sometimes Tsukishima he if he’d have to work in a cake shop his entire life.

     “Tsunemori-san? I have something to ask you…”

     Tsukishima stiffened in surprise. What the hell, Akaashi was still there.

     “Uh huh. Yes. We did it in the wrong key…tomorrow afternoon?” There was some shuffling of paper. “The day after tomorrow? In the morning…no, I can’t bring them...I won’t bring them. Doesn’t matter if you think he’s cute. Tsunemori-san, he’s gay, it won’t make a difference.”

     “What the hell?” Tsukishima muttered, amused. He wanted to know who this pushy ‘Tsunemori-san’ was.

     “Last time he broke the microphone…he’s a chemical engineer, not whatever else. It wasn’t fixed properly,” Akaashi said impatiently. “Yes…thank you. Goodbye.”

     Tsukishima rested his forearm across his eyes, grinning as he pictured the cross expression Akaashi likely had. But when the music started up again, falteringly, it didn’t sound annoyed. It was the same tune as before, wistful yet calming.

     He didn’t have to think longer; this time, he fell asleep for real.

     Arms were around him, gentle and reassuring. It made sense for him to lean back into the embrace, to accept the comfort so freely offered. And then he was standing alone on top of a tall building, its edges unguarded by the usual wire fencing. Far below the roads wound through the city like veins stained with ink. The air tasted burned, like time had stopped. Nothing moved in the streets. 

     The crows that surrounded him stared with sightless white eyes. He took a step toward them, but his shoelace was untied and he tripped. All but one immediately turned their heads toward the sky and lifted their wings. The crow that remained spoke to him in his brother’s voice, _Quit being so useless_. Before he could say anything, it had joined the flock.

     He watched them circle high, high above from the playground outside his house. The grass was short and dried out, scratching his bare feet. _Mum_ _, Brother took my shoes_ , he complained. A hand touched his shoulder but the pressure vanished like it was yanked back. He swatted a mosquito that had landed on his neck. Blood stained his small fingers. The smell was acrid, stinging his nostrils.

     The sun lurched out from behind the thick cloud cover, its rays slicing through the gloom. It was violent and bright, searing everything it touched. He couldn’t tear his eyes off it, he felt them burning but he couldn’t stop looking—

     Tsukishima’s eyes flew open to the darkness of his room. His heartbeat was hammering in his ears and his hands were clammy with sweat. Grumbling internally, he fumbled for his phone. One-thirty in the morning.

     He couldn’t remember what his dream was about, but his half-awake self was muddled with unease and frustration. Getting up, he shuffled outside to the bathroom, barely aware of the dim white glow from the couch.

     Splashing water on his sticky face brought him a little bit back to reality. The irrational unease still lay low in the small of his back, as if he was sensing someone behind him.

     Akaashi shifted from his spot when Tsukishima re-entered the living room, stretching out his legs and refolding them underneath himself. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

     “Weird dream,” Tsukishima admitted, failing to fight back a yawn.

     “Huh. What about?”

     “I can’t remember. Lot of birds.”

     _Quit being so useless_ , echoed sharply in his ear and he swallowed heavily. “Akaashi-san…”

     “Yeah?”

     Tsukishima’s mouth was dry when he opened it. He stood wordlessly, not sure what he was going to say. “Sorry,” he managed. “It’s nothing.”

     “…Okay. Goodnight.”

     When he walked away, he remembered the warmth of an embrace that never happened, the sensation of letting his head fall back onto someone else’s chest. Annoyance clawed at him as he closed his eyes against the darkness of his room.

     He was being so _stupid_.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30k words and they haven't held hands
> 
> as always, you can find me @[rincentric](http://rincentric.tumblr.com)
> 
> edit 8/03/17: this work is hiatus-ing. shoot me after you've done all of my uni assignments and shifts at work. (im sorry)


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